There's an Angel Here
by Beth aka Midge
Summary: Chris' life before Four Corners


1 There's an Angel Here  
  
By Beth aka Midge  
  
Old West Story (Chris)  
  
Notes: I had to take some liberties when it came to writing up the past for the character Chris Larabee. Please bear with me, I do follow the little canon the producers gave us from the show with such characters as Top Hat Bob Spikes, Buck, Ella Gains, Sara and Adam. I also discovered some inconsistencies in the show and made the decision that Chris' family had only been dead about 2 ½ years before the pilot episode because in the episode Obsession (the second to last episode) Chris was found in Purgatory, by Buck and JD, getting drunk because it had been three years since his family had been taken from him.  
  
Special Thanks: To Elisia, Antoinette, Katherine, and Julie for keeping me on my toes.  
  
  
  
1.1 Foreword  
  
Chris looked down at his hand and remembered everyone he'd killed, the horses he'd broke, and the lives he'd touched. Dust blew around his horses legs and the big black stomped his feet in reaction. Chris rested his arms across the saddle horn and looked again at the small town in the distance. He could hear gunshots being fired and the distant yells of men. It was another nameless town that had been built by Eastern city folk who didn't have a clue about the rough west. Laws out here didn't mean anything…until you got caught.  
  
So much had happened since the deaths of his wife and son. He had changed so much. He was sure his father wouldn't recognize him and his mother, well, she'd want to know why he was in so much pain. A smile came to Chris' lips when he remembered the first shirt Sarah had made him. It had been light blue with a white collar. The smile quickly vanished as he remembered the precious garment had burned with his wife and son. Now, all he wore was black.  
  
Chris focused his attention on the town in front of him. He needed a drink. He kicked his horse's sides, and spitting out his cheroot, he rode toward the place where heroes were killed…or born. He hoped to catch up with an old friend, maybe share a drink or two, and then move on. He didn't realize destiny had other plans…  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Indiana 1851  
  
Dirt swirled around the front steps of the old wooden porch. The windows on either side of the door were opened allowing the summer's early air to enter the simple yet inviting log home. An older man, not yet forty years in age, but due to his ailing health and many long years of working in the sun, looking much older than his actual years suggested, sat watching his fourteen year old son through the dust streaked windows and blowing drapes.  
  
Tears came to his eyes but never fell as he watched his son. Adam coughed again and wiped his mouth clean of the blood that was slowly drowning him. He was afraid to admit he was dying, but the crimsoned-stained handkerchief told a different story. His wife and two daughters had perished from scarlet fever not long ago. When Rachel had died, a very large part of Adam died with her. Since when did a man who'd lived on the land all his life grow dependent on a woman who's blonde hair glistened in the sunlight and with eyes so blue they melted his heart? God, how he missed her. Chris was fair like his mother, Adam compared, hair so blonde it looked white when the sun hit it, but even at fourteen it was obvious he would have his father's muscular frame and height. Slowly he rubbed his eyes and looked again at his son and realized for the first time he'd become a man. There weren't any warning signs; it was if, in the passing of one night, he had become a man with all a man's responsibilities.  
  
Adam coughed again and leaned back in his rocker. He knew in his heart that Chris wouldn't stay. Farming wasn't in his blood. His mother had followed her heart and left the big city, Chris would follow his and leave Indiana. He wasn't meant to live his life raising wheat and barley. No, it was someplace else, in his blood ran the need to raise and train horses, to succeed and build his own family. Adam was disappointed, of course he would be, but at the same time he couldn't be prouder of the young man that was his son.  
  
********  
  
Chris cinched up the girth and let the stirrup fall back into place. Tip, his piebald gelding, waited patiently, cocking his left hind hoof and resting his hindquarters while his master retrieved his bridle. The cattle in the nearby corral butted heads while scrounging for the last morsel of food. Tip flicked his ears forward when Chris stepped back into view and then with practiced ease, he slipped the bridle over the gelding's nose. In one swift move the young man was up and the pair took off for their morning ride.  
  
*******  
  
Chris pulled Tip to a stop and dismounted in front of the small cemetery. Inside, three graves rested undisturbed beneath a large oak tree. White crosses, now aged by weather, bore the names of the family he'd lost. Rachel Larabee, died 1848, wife, mother and friend, Opal Larabee, age 9, and finally baby Anne. They had all died from the scarlet fever. Chris cleared the markers of the dried weeds and dusted off the tops of the three white crosses. It would bother his father to know he was here, not because of the time it took from his day, but because of the memories that would flood his mind while he was there.  
  
Death wasn't unfamiliar to a young Christopher Larabee. It was a part of life and something a farmer's child learned early on. However, losing his mother and sisters was different than losing a family pet or a friend. He hadn't expected the feelings of sorrow, anger, or abandonment to invade his world. Of course he didn't allow these feelings to show, there wasn't any time. His father was ill, the farm needed tended, and the cattle needed to be sold. So he buried his feelings and did what he had to. He took on the responsibilities of the land and his home. At thirteen he had quit school and started farming.  
  
Chris remounted Tip and headed off to look the land over once again. He couldn't remember a hotter summer or one so dry. This year's harvest was suffering…if they didn't get a heavy rain, and soon, they would lose their entire yearly crop.  
  
The closest neighbor they had was a wealthy landowner by the name of Rupert Maloney. He and Adam Larabee had become good friends over the years and Chris had always been a welcomed guest in Maloney's home. When Rachel had died Adam had shut himself off from his friends and became a recluse. Rupert had tried repeatedly to get Adam back into the social circles of the living but to no avail. Chris however, found himself at the Maloney home enjoying their council and abundant stock of horseflesh. It was his only means of escape.  
  
Chris pulled his mount to a stop and looked over the dying field of wheat. Off in the distance he could see the large Maloney Ranch. Cattle and horses filled the pastures and ranch hands worked casually about their jobs. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the saddle horn. The sky was clear and there was no sign of a welcoming storm was in the distance. Chris turned Tip back towards the dying crops to finish his work.  
  
1.2 *******  
  
A dull light shown through the windows of the simple log home. Darkness had long since fallen as Chris prepared the animals for the night. He slapped his leg with his hat and dust plumed around him. A night owl cooed in the distance, accompanying a coyote's cry. The light of the moon lit up the ground and glistened off the backs of the cattle in the round corral. The house was darker than usual and Chris paused before heading up the steps. He didn't want to tell his father, the man who had worked until his fingers bled, that the land was dying. The harvest was dying and he didn't know what to do about it. Even with the miracle of a heavy rainstorm, it probably wouldn't be enough.  
  
Chris stepped up onto the porch and slowly opened the door. The hinges squeaked and he chastised himself for not having repaired them sooner. He didn't want to wake his father if he was already asleep. A plate of biscuits sat on the table next to the lantern that was barely burning. He smiled, his father always made biscuits for dinner. It was the only thing he could make that was edible. Chris threw his hat on the hook next to the door and tried to sneak across the floor without causing the boards to creak and moan.  
  
"Pa," Chris said softly, noticing the limp hand resting on the edge of the rocker. It wasn't unusual for the old man to fall asleep looking out the window. Slowly he stepped up to the rocker and placed his hand on his father's shoulder. "Pa," he said again, slightly surprised that he didn't get a response. He knelt down to face him and his heart sank.  
  
Chris carefully grabbed the cold frail fingers and held them while his father stared out the window. His eyes were open but lifeless and the young Chris Larabee realized he was now truly alone. Tears streamed down his face unashamedly while he looked at the man he'd grown to admire most in his life. Now he was dead. Now he was with Rachel and the children. Perhaps now, he was happy. Chris rested on his knees and gently kissed his father's cold forehead. "Goodbye," he whispered sadly.  
  
He stood up and looked around the meagerly furnished cabin and wiped the tears he'd shed from his cheeks. Placing his father's hand back into the position he'd found it in he then headed for the door. He had a coffin to build…and a hero to bury.  
  
Chapter 2  
  
The Maloney home was anything but small. It looked out of place among the gentle rolling hills and flat pastures. For the most part the land it rested on was peaceful. The local Indian population had been forcefully removed ten years prior into the Kansas territory. A few bands still remained but those were composed of women and children and those of mixed blood.  
  
1853 was quickly coming to an end and the past two years seemed like a blur to Chris. He had taken everything in stride and had managed to get a job as a horse handler for Rupert Maloney. It was a job the young man quickly adapted to and became very good at. It wasn't long before Chris was the lead horseman for 'Maloney Farms'. Men who had been breaking and training horses for years were amazed at the young man's gift and determination with the beasts.  
  
Chris had buried himself in training the well-bred horses. It was his way of avoiding the pain of his father's death. It had hit him harder than he was willing to admit. He missed his father's bad coffee, and even worse cooking, but most of all he missed his laugh. It was a deep laugh that came from the soul and echoed throughout every room. The more he thought about his father the more he thought about his mother. The way she would sing gospel hymns while she washed the dishes or hung clothes on the clothing line. With a single look she could change the tension in a room. He missed the way his sisters would giggle and play or watch him as he worked. He missed them all.  
  
If someone were to ask him to pick out his family in a group of people, Chris didn't know if he could do it. Their faces were fading. Now all that he had were memories and those too were fading. He held close to his heart the gold watch that his father had owned and a simple brooch that his mother had cherished. That was all he had to hold onto and in many ways he hoped they would be enough. He remembered the little things but their faces were fading. And for Chris, that was the most devastating.  
  
******  
  
The large two-year-old black bay quarter horse loped by as Chris took the young colt through his paces. Buckshot, as many of the ranch hands had come to call the animal due to his sharp temperament, had come to respect his blonde handler. Chris seemed to be the only person on the ranch who could handle the beast and Maloney himself was impressed.  
  
With a simple click of his tongue Chris signaled for the big horse to stop and he did so without hesitation. The big colt trotted forward and nudged his handler's shoulder with his soft velvety nose. A loud chuckle grabbed both Chris and Buckshot's attention and they looked toward the corral gate. With his fingers laced together and his arms resting over the top railing Mr. Maloney stood with an amused look on his face. Chris snapped the lead back on the halter and walked with the horse toward the gate.  
  
"Dorty's got a bet going with Smitty that you're going to get tossed the first time you try and mount that bit of horseflesh," Rupert said with a smile. He watched as Chris nodded his head in understanding and a mischievous grin appeared on his face.  
  
"Hell," the young blonde chuckled, "Dorty ain't got sense enough to pour piss out of a boot."  
  
"Well, son, I ain't gonna argue that point with you." Rupert smiled and watched as the colt stood patiently beside his handler. Occasionally he would nip at the lead rope and flick his ears but other than that he was completely content. "How soon before you throw a saddle up on 'im?"  
  
"'Bout an hour," Chris answered with a smile.  
  
"You break that horse without getting killed…you can consider 'im yours." Maloney didn't hesitate with his statement. He meant it. "Figure he'll make you a good stud for when you're ready to start your own farm." He slapped the top rail with the palm of his hand and turned back toward his house.  
  
"Sir," Chris called after the retreating form, "I can't." He shook his head, holding the cotton lead rope in his hand.  
  
"You'd better," Maloney replied. "Ain't goin' to be anyone else around here that can handle that beast."  
  
Chris chuckled and gave his newly acquired horse a pat on the neck. He was confident in his abilities of breaking horses. Buckshot shook his head in response. Chris led the horse to the center of the corral and tied him securely to the post. Most friendships start slow and no two individuals knew that better than the young blonde handler and the large black bay two- year-old. And like most friendships they had their share of 'complications'. This was one of those times.  
  
The old saddle rested on the fence and the horse eyed it cautiously as Chris pulled it from the top rail. Neither man nor beast noticed the spectators that had come out of the bunkhouse. They were there to watch the show. Buckshot stood his ground as the blanket came up over his withers. He didn't mind the ground-work, sure it took some time to get used to the fact that this blonde skinny 'kid' was making him run around in circles. However, he was having difficulties with these foreign objects that the kid wanted to put on his back. The blanket smelled of stale sweat and the saddle smelt similar to the dead carcass of a dried out cow. He wasn't real sure that he wanted either item on his back.  
  
As soon as the saddle was cinched up Buckshot blew. He pulled forcefully on the post in the center of the corral and pushed his new master out of his way. He blew hard and snorted and finally calmed down once he realized the item on his back wasn't going to be removed.  
  
Chris spoke in a low even tone as he approached his horse. The animal shook with fear and eyed him suspiciously. A white lather had started to build up on each side of the horse's jaw next to the leather halter. "Ho," Chris said again and again. He reached up and quietly patted the horse's strong neck and almost immediately Buckshot calmed down.  
  
The bay nudged his handler in the arm not understanding what was happening. He took comfort in the steady voice that echoed in his ears and the hands that continued to stroke his muscular frame. He didn't even mind as the cinch was tightened. When he was released from the post he took off like a bullet and kicked his hooves into the air.  
  
Whistles and laughter could be heard from around the arena fence. All of the ranch hands had gathered to watch the rodeo. Chris stood patiently in the center of the corral watching as his horse ran and bucked in circles trying to rid himself of the saddle on his back.  
  
"Hey Larabee!" Dorty called, "you want in?" He motioned to the hat he held in his hand that was filled with change.  
  
"What are my odds?" Chris grinned wickedly. He needed a new saddle and winning this bet it would go a long way in getting him one.  
  
"Five to one that you're goin' to get pitched," Dorty responded with a grin.  
  
"You're on," Chris challenged. He pulled a dollar and 73 cents out of his pocket and handed it to Dorty.  
  
Smitty, the ranch's blacksmith, smiled and tipped his head in Chris' direction. Obviously, he was one of the few that believed in the young man's ability with the horse. There couldn't have been two men alive that were more different. Jonathan 'Smitty' O'Donald, was about as Irish as they came. His red hair, ivory skin, and freckles let everyone he came into contact with know of his origin. He stood well over six feet tall and the muscles in his arms made his shirt strain at the seams. He was missing his left eyebrow from a fire he was in as a boy but he didn't let it bother him. According to him, if God wanted his eyebrow that bad, he could have it. Then there was William Denny or as everyone had come to call him, 'Dorty'. The man wasn't any bigger than a minute but he made up for it with his attitude. He had long black hair he kept in a ponytail. His clothing hung off him like that of a scarecrow's. Everyone was convinced the only reason his pants stayed up was because of the gun belt that was strapped up tight against his hips. Dorty was always the first to give advice and the last to take it but he was a good man to have in a bind.  
  
Smitty had taken Chris under his wing from the moment he stepped onto the property. He'd known the boy's father and saw fit to watch out for him after Adam had passed. He taught the boy how to shoe his own horse, and Tip had been the perfect project. He'd also taught him how to handle a wild horse. Chris knew a lot about farming and he knew a lot about horses, but he didn't know enough. That was simply because he'd never had the opportunity to learn. Now he did and Smitty intended to show him.  
  
Dorty had taken it upon himself to show Chris the laws of the land. He started to teach the young man how to shoot a pistol. A pistol wasn't something Adam had taught his son how to use. A rifle? Yes. Hunting had to be done, protecting the family had to be done, but killing a man intentionally didn't. Adam didn't want his son to know the horrors of killing someone and that's all pistols were used for. Being a young man, Chris didn't understand that and he wouldn't for years to come. So when Dorty offered to show him how to handle a pistol, he jumped at the chance. Like Dorty, Chris decided that he liked the feel of the gun belt cinched up tight, rather than hanging loose on his hip. He felt like he had more control, so that's how he wore it. Every payday he'd buy a new box of ammunition and practice. The money he'd made after he'd sold the farm went right into savings. He made a promise to his family that he wouldn't spend a dime of it until he found a place where he could raise his own family. He wanted to buy a small piece of land and raise some good horses. He wanted to raise his children the way he'd been raised.  
  
Buckshot slid to a stop and breathed heavily. His nostrils flared and he stared at the men across the fence. The comforting sound of a soft voice caught his attention and he took a step forward. Chris rubbed the horse's muzzle and spoke gently to him. Sweat glistened off his coat and the white lather seemed more abundant.  
  
Chris attached the soft cotton lead back onto the halter and threw it over Buckshot's neck. Chris tightened up the girth and walked the bay for a few steps to calm him down. He didn't want to use a bridle and a bit. The bit was too harsh an instrument for a young colt, so he only relied on the halter and lead. He could hear the others heckle him, daring him to get up and on the horse. Others were asking him if he wanted a pine box or a gunnysack to be buried in. Chris ignored them.  
  
Carefully and slowly, the young blonde stuck his foot in the stirrup. Holding tightly onto the cotton lead, he slipped up into the saddle. Buckshot stood still for just a moment and it was long enough for Chris to get situated. The horse arched his neck and bowed his back, indicating his intentions to his rider. With the grace of a true bronco Buckshot flew through the air trying every tactic he knew of to dismount his rider. The ranch hands standing along the fence line jumped back when the horse got close enough to cause them bodily harm.  
  
As moments passed by, hollers of encouragement echoed around the arena. Now, nobody cared about winning or losing the bet. They wanted to see the kid succeed.  
  
Buckshot continued to maneuver around the arena then slowed to a trot. His sides heaved from exhaustion and his coat was covered in sweat. He tossed his head and took comfort in the feeling of a hand rubbing the crest of his neck. He stopped suddenly, shaking only slightly, but awaiting for his next command. He'd done all he could to rid himself of the rider on his back but like most things in his life he had to comply with what was asked of him. He felt his halter being pulled to the left and he followed without thought, then again he was being pulled to the right. The soft voice of his rider brought comfort to his ears and he did as he was asked.  
  
Chris smiled when he felt the horse beneath him give in to his command. He continued to ride the horse in circles at a very slow walk. The animal was exhausted and Chris didn't want to push him any further.  
  
"Chris Larabee!" Dorty called, "you got balls of steel you have." He laughed when the kid on the horse looked up and smiled.  
  
"Seems you owe me some money," Chris responded back.  
  
"That I do boy…that I do."  
  
******  
  
The town of Jackson could barely be called a town at all, but it was the closest place where supplies could be purchased for surrounding farms and ranches. There were only three standing wood buildings. The rest of the town were makeshift tents and lean-two's. The Jackson Mercantile stood next to the bank and across the short street was the saloon. There was no doubt that the town was growing and many would complain about the questionable reputations that were growing up around it. Saloon girls, dressed in lace corsets and black stockings, hung from the balcony of the Black Palomino Saloon calling for new customers. Respectable women didn't dare walk down the same side of the streets as those…harlots…as they were called. That didn't, however, detour the men. Even the local minister was known to frequent the saloon. What he did there remained a mystery, but he had been known to come in for a spell and spend some of his 'offering' money.  
  
Dorty, Smitty, Chris, and four others from the Maloney Ranch dismounted and tied their mounts to the hitching rails out in front of the saloon. They had brought Chris into town to celebrate. After three days of working with Buckshot the horse was turning out to be an ideal mount for the young man. He'd even ridden him into town. The others let Chris tie the animal to a hitching post all his own simply because they were afraid of the beast. Buckshot had a tendency to either like you or hate you and if he hated you…look out.  
  
Dorty's intention was to get Chris drunk and then get him laid…or vice versa. Even Smitty agreed. Chris was sixteen, he was a man, and he needed to know the feeling of a soft woman and a killer hangover. So the hired hands all agreed to take the kid to town and show him more than just the necessities of life. Now he needed to learn some of the more luxurious things.  
  
Smitty entered through the batwing doors of the Saloon and smiled, breathing in the heavy air. Cheap perfume, smoke, sweat, and whiskey filled the air. The smell was almost overwhelming. Even Chris had to stand back a moment to allow his senses to get accustomed to the odors. Dorty brushed passed him with the only intention of grabbing a bottle of whiskey and his favorite girl, Dolly Mae, a fiery-haired red head with a temper to match.  
  
The four other hands grabbed a table in the back and started on their poker game while Smitty pushed Chris toward the table where Dorty was now sitting.  
  
Dolly Mae slipped onto Dorty's lap and immediately downed the shot of whiskey the man had just poured. If it wasn't for the fact that she was just as short and just as thin as the man she was straddling, everyone would have thought that Dorty wouldn't be able to handle some of the bigger gals walking around the saloon. Woman of all shapes, sizes, and hair colors strutted through the maze of tables and down the stairs with one thing on their mind: making some money.  
  
Smitty pulled a chair out for his young companion and ordered him to have a seat. Chris looked around at the activity in awe. Smitty placed a shot glass of whiskey in front of the young man and slapped him on the shoulder. He loved the eyes of youth but one day, like everyone else in the saloon, these images wouldn't be a surprise anymore.  
  
A woman with long dark auburn hair that fell gracefully around her shoulders stepped up to the table and gently clasped Chris' jaw, forcing him to look at her. Melinda's face was heavily painted but her dark green eyes captured the attention of the young man in her grasp. "You're new," she said with a smile.  
  
"Melinda," Smitty acknowledged. He watched in amusement, as Chris looked up at the woman unable to utter a word.  
  
"Buy me a drink," she winked at the young man sitting before her.  
  
Chris reached for the bottle of whisky never taking his eyes off the woman. He continually missed the bottle until a very amused Smitty placed it in his hand. Melinda grabbed the bottle around the neck and took a long pull, then she grinned seeing the young man's shocked expression.  
  
"You'll have to forgive the boy." Dorty smiled, as he blew a strand of Dolly Mae's hair out of his face.  
  
"Looks like a man to me," she replied, releasing his chin she grabbed a handful of Chris' shirt. She pulled him to his feet and started him toward the stairs. She knew what he was there for and she intended to teach him well.  
  
"Think he'll be all right?" Smitty asked, taking another drink.  
  
"No," Dorty replied with a loud belly laugh.  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Buckshot, chewed impatiently on his bit. Chris sat in the saddle overlooking the herd of cattle. Dorty and two other hands were roping the last few calves that needed to be branded. The smell of burnt flesh and hair filled the air. The fire in the center of the corral continued to burn as Chris was ordered to separate another steer. The cattle moved almost as one as the big horse moved through the herd of Black Angus.  
  
Chris told Rupert that he was leaving the ranch after the branding was complete to pursue another path in his life. Rupert was sorry to see the young man go but he understood his desire. Smitty and Dorty too were going to miss having the kid around. They understood his need to leave and find, in essence, his niche in life. In the span of three years the young Larabee had come along way. He could handle himself in a fight, shoot the eye out of a penny, and work a horse like no other. Chris, in turn, had given them all a new outlook on life through the eyes of a young man. He didn't want to go but he knew that if he didn't he might never leave.  
  
The last steer to be branded was quickly separated from the herd and Dorty with help from the others quickly had the animal roped and branded. As soon as they finished Chris opened the gate and ushered the group into the adjoining pasture. Water was dumped on the fire and the branding irons were laid in the dirt to cool. All the men, thinking as one unit, threw their hats off and with yells of relief they ran toward the narrow stream that rested a few hundred feet away from the corral. Chris watched them with an amused look on his face.  
  
"You should join 'em," Smitty said, walking out of the lean-to shed where he worked. The leather apron was scarred with burn marks. His shirt was soaked in sweat but, as always, Smitty had a smile on his face.  
  
Chris raised his eyebrows and grinned. He dismounted and walked toward the big man. "I've got to head out." It was a statement, not a question and the man standing in front of him knew it.  
  
Smitty nodded his head and stuck out his hand. "It has been a real pleasure workin' with you Mr. Larabee," he said, noticing Chris' smile, "and I hate to see you go."  
  
"Take care of ol' Tip for me…if I find a place I'll come back and get 'im."  
  
"You know I will," Smitty responded, he new Chris wouldn't be back. Tip was getting pretty old and the horse was enjoying his retirement being used only on occasion for Rupert's two small children. Chris had trained his new horse well and the animal was loyal to him. Granted they still had their 'disagreements' but for the most part the horse and rider couldn't have been more compatible.  
  
Chris had packed up his bunk after he'd awakened, getting ready for his ride out. He wanted to make it as far as Jackson before stopping for the night…he had a friend to say goodbye to.  
  
Buckshot tugged on the bridle while reaching for a strand of grass. Chris gave the horse his head for a moment and then looked toward Rupert who was making his way toward him. The ranch hands were slowly coming out of the river, dripping wet. Smitty laughed when Dorty made his way to the small group.  
  
"Chris," Rupert said, holding his hand out for the young man to shake. "You ever need a place to stay, don't even think about asking…you're always welcome here." He handed Chris a small envelope filled with his last pay.  
  
Chris took the envelope with a smile and tipped his head in appreciation. Dorty stepped up behind him and slapped him on the shoulder.  
  
"Hate to see you go kid." The man who was known for being overbearing, arrogant, and as having a heart of stone was finding it difficult to say goodbye. He wouldn't let his emotions take control. Dorty smiled to those around him, and then he quickly headed off toward the bunkhouse. Perhaps a dry set of clothes would help his mood.  
  
Smitty and Rupert watched as Chris tied his bedroll to the back of his saddle and without saying goodbye, he made his farewells. It was an unspoken communication. Everyone at the ranch knew the kid had a good life facing him and they couldn't blame him for wanting to grab hold of it. He was a young, determined, strong willed, and tough as nails Indiana farm boy. He'd make it.  
  
Rupert slapped Smitty on the back knowing the Irishman had a soft spot for the young man riding off the property. Smitty had never been an overwhelming presence, despite his overwhelming size, but to look at him now… Never one to say what he needed or how he was feeling, he looked back toward the blacksmith shop and slowly went back to work.  
  
******  
  
Chris really didn't know where he was going, he just knew he was going. For the first time in his life he was seeing more than what he'd ever experienced. Towns were larger, people were stranger, and jobs were harder to come by. It was hard saying goodbye to his friends and even harder saying goodbye to Melinda. He wasn't in love with her but he had affection for her. She'd taught him a lot about life, love, and women. But he had to leave.  
  
As he rode up over the hill he could see off in the distance the town of Benton. It would be his last stop before leaving Indiana. He didn't know if it would be his last time or if he would come back. What did it matter? There was a whole country to explore and learn about, why limit himself to just one state?  
  
Buckshot walked patiently, flicking his ears back and forth, listening to his master's commands and the noises surrounding them. The ride had been long and tedious and the big horse was looking forward to a good rest. He looked with interest around the newest town. Unlike the others, there seemed to be an event happening that had captured, not only other horses, but peoples' attention as well.  
  
Chris stopped in front of the livery and dismounted. He grabbed his saddlebags and bedroll and handed his horse's reins to the stable boy. "Make sure he gets a stall to himself and feed him some extra oats," he ordered, before heading to the hotel.  
  
"Yes sir," the short, redheaded boy replied. Buckshot snorted but he was too tired to complain as he followed the boy into the stable.  
  
******  
  
The desk clerk looked up when the door opened. It wasn't unusual to see people from all walks of life enter his establishment. And the young man in front of him wasn't any different.  
  
"Can I get a room?" Chris asked, searching his pockets for some change.  
  
"Well," the clerk responded, "you're in luck. Got one room left." He pushed the register in front of his newest customer. "Put your name or mark here."  
  
Like so many of the registers he'd already seen, many of the occupants had signed their name and many had simply put a fingerprint. Chris signed his name and looked up in question.  
  
"Thirty-five cents, and you're in room eleven at the top of the stairs."  
  
"What's all the action about?" Chris asked, handing the money over.  
  
"Fair," was the short simple reply.  
  
Chris nodded his head in understanding and then headed up the stairs to his room.  
  
******  
  
People of all ages gathered at the fair. Indians dressed in traditional attire stood like trophies to be won in front of the 'Indiana History' booth. Tables were filled with pies and canned goods, some with ribbons and others without. A farmer stood with a Hereford calf in his arms yelling, "Guess the weight and win." Chris smiled and continued on his way. Contests of every kind were being played with prizes and awards ranging from money to food.  
  
Four men stood, two stationed on either side of two tree trunks. The contest involved sawing through the log at the fastest speed. The team who cut through first won six dollars. Bets were being made on the side and money seemed to change hands rather quickly. When the shot went off the crowd started cheering and the contestants franticly began sawing the wood.  
  
Team A seemed to be ahead and the crowd cheered them on, encouraging them to saw faster. But team B was quickly catching up. A loud roar of disappointment echoed throughout the area, as team B finished first. The two hot and sweaty contestants congratulated each other by vigorously shaking hands. Winnings were quickly handed out as disappointed bet makers and cheerful victors made their way to the next contest.  
  
Chris jumped when a wiry old man with short salt and pepper hair slapped him on the shoulder. "Now sonny," the gruff voice started, "why don't ya come along with me and play a little contest." Before Chris could respond, the old man continued. "Ya ever done rail splittin'?…Even if ya ain't, it's easy enough for a young strong feller like yourself. Ya see," he started pushing Chris to the center of a group of people who had gathered to watch the next contest, "there'll be two of ya, that young man over there," he pointed to a kid who was just a few years older than Chris, "and yourself." His competitor's hair was long and straggly, his eyes were too small, and it looked like he was trying to grow a beard, but was failing. "That there is Bob Spikes, he's won this contest for the past three years runnin' and I think you're just the man to beat 'im. It costs twenty-five cents to enter the contest and if ya win, ya get five whole dollars, enough to get ya new suit. If ya lose, well, you won't be takin' nothin' home with ya but your will for tryin'."  
  
Chris thought for a moment and decided to give it a try. Five dollars would last him a long time and he knew how to split rails, he'd done it all his life. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out the money and handed it to the skinny gray haired man.  
  
"Alrighty then!" he man called, grabbing everyone's attention. "We've got ourselves a challenger," the old man leaned in Chris' direction, "what's your name laddie?"  
  
"Chris, Chris Larabee."  
  
"Challenger Chris Larabee is goin' up against three year rail splittin' champ, Bob Spikes." The crowd went wild when Bob stepped out into the center of the ring, reminding Chris of the matadors in that book on Spain he read last summer.  
  
Chris shook his head at the antics and listened as the rules were announced. The logs weren't nearly as long as the ones he'd split back home and he grabbed the long-handled axe that was handed to him. He watched as bets were made and silently wished he'd put some money on himself.  
  
"Hey Larabee," a voice called from the crowd, "you might as well quit now."  
  
Chris ignored the comments and prepared himself for the contest. He listened carefully for the shot to go off and when it did the crowd roared with cheers. He didn't pay any attention to anything except splitting his own rail. His breathing and the quick beating of his heart drowned the voices out. When the final crack of the wood echoed in his ears the crowd went silent. Chris looked up at the stunned faces and then he looked at the now 'former' rail splitting champ, Bob Spikes. He felt someone grab his hand and raise it high in the air.  
  
"The winner!" the old man exclaimed. Once again, the crowed cheered but they watched the loser carefully.  
  
Chris took his winnings and stuffed them into his pocket and grinned as people slapped him on the back in congratulations.  
  
"That five dollars is mine, boy." The voice was low and gruff and Chris turned to find an unhappy Bob Spikes staring him down.  
  
"Boy?" Chris asked, a little stunned by the announcement.  
  
"You heard me."  
  
Chris chuckled; he'd been in scrap fights before. At seventeen he was only five foot ten and still growing, and he was light in build. But after working hard all his life his thin frame was covered in hard muscles. Spikes outweighed him by sixty pounds but he wasn't in as good a shape. They were matched equally in height and Chris decided he wasn't going to back down.  
  
"Money's mine…I won it fair and square," he replied sternly.  
  
Chris ducked when the first punch was thrown and the fight was on. Chris shoved his shoulder into the midsection of Spikes and both fell to the ground. Women grabbed their children and moved away from the action as men cheered the fighters on. In the center of the commotion the fight started migrating inot the observers' ranks. Dust clouds blossomed as more bodies were thrown, dropped, and tossed around the grounds like toys in a child's room.  
  
Bob Spikes kicked out getting Chris in the ribs and the young blonde grabbed his middle while rolling away from the assaulting feet. Spikes kicked out again with a grin on his face but his opponent anticipated his move. Chris swept his leg catching Bob behind his knees causing him to fall.  
  
Bob yelled out in pain just before the local sheriff fired off a shot breaking up the fight.  
  
"Knock it off!" the sheriff yelled. His voice was low and commanding as he rested the butt of his rifle on his hip. The crowd's attention was immediately focused on the man whose simple demeanor changed the mood of the people standing around. "Davis!" the sheriff yelled, getting his deputy's attention, "Get Bob there, to Doc. Woodger, looks like he's got somethin' in his eye."  
  
Bob Spikes sat on the ground holding his right eye. Blood seeped through his fingers and he stared at Chris with his good eye. "I'll get you for this Larabee," he warned, as the deputy pulled him to his feet.  
  
"Shut up, Bob," the sheriff snapped. He stood with an authority Chris had never seen before he took a step back when the man with the oversized black hat and silver beard stared him down. "You start this?" he asked, demanding an answer.  
  
"No sir," Chris responded while shaking his head.  
  
The sheriff nodded his head in acceptance of the answer. "I don't want to see you in any more scrapes, and if I were you I'd high tail it out of here in the mornin'." He turned and started toward the town. "Damn kids," he muttered, moving past the curious onlookers.  
  
Chris bowed his head and sighed thankful that the sheriff saw fit to let him go. The crowd quickly dispersed and went about with their business. Chris would do as the sheriff asked; he'd intended to leave early anyway. Now, however, he was five dollars richer. He smiled, he could have been spending the night in jail rather than a hotel room with a soft bed.  
  
Chapter 4  
  
For the next few years Chris roamed from town to town getting a job when he ran short of cash. He broke horses, ran cattle, and worked on a few drives. In essence, he was a drifter. Never staying longer than he had to. He'd made a few enemies along the way, but like most people he didn't let it bother him.  
  
The threat of the upcoming war was getting to be more of a realization than just talk. It didn't matter where he went, what town he was in, or how far north he traveled. The impending conflict with the South was coming…and soon. It was the same argument everywhere he went. The South had to be stopped from seceding from the union at all costs, even the cost of life. The only people who seemed to care about slavery issues were the women folk, and they seemed to be preoccupied with their own issues of temperance. Chris didn't pay much attention. If war was coming he'd think about what he'd have to do then. But right now he was enjoying his life, learning about the land, learning about the people, and most importantly, learning about himself.  
  
******  
  
Chris stepped into the Blue Haven Tavern in the small town of Hasting in the Kansas Territory. The town was small and dusty. Most of the inhabitants were farmers, small businessmen, and a few miners. The tavern was small and inactive. The bartender leaned on the polished bar talking to a local resident. Both were enjoying a beer. A woman with long auburn hair sat in a chair next to the window. She smiled when Chris looked at her and immediately she captured his attention.  
  
"What can I get ya?" the bartender asked. His rosy red cheeks, gray hair, and black eyebrows caused Chris to chuckle.  
  
"Beer."  
  
"Names Bobby," the bartender said, handing Chris the beer he'd poured.  
  
"Chris," the tall blonde responded.  
  
"Well, Chris," Bobby leaned over the bar with a smile, "you see that pretty little gal sittin' in the corner?" He waited until the stranger nodded his head. "That there, is Ella Gaines. Her pa died a couple weeks back and she ain't smiled till you walked in through those doors…now, you get that gal to laugh and I won't charge ya nothin' for your beer." Before Chris could agree Bobby grabbed another glass and filled it with sarsaparilla and then spiked it with a couple shots of whiskey. "Habit," he responded with a chuckle.  
  
Chris smiled, but picked up the glass and turned, heading for the young lady's table.  
  
Ella smiled when the handsome stranger placed the glass of 'sarsaparilla' in front of her. "Thank you." She nodded her head.  
  
"Mind if I sit?" Chris asked.  
  
"It's a free country," she responded, pushing the chair across from her with her foot. "I'm Ella Gaines, but I'm sure Bobby told you that already."  
  
Chris chuckled and seated himself. "He seems to be a talkative sort…I'm Chris Larabee."  
  
Ella giggled and in the span of just a few minutes, started talking about things she hadn't talked about in years. She opened up to this man and found an almost magical connection to him. She laughed for the first time in weeks. Losing her father had been a breaking point for her. He'd been the only man in her life who'd protected her, showed her how to survive in the hard conditions of the west, and he'd left her his small business. When he died Ella had shut down. She'd closed the business and spent the first week after his death in bed. When she finally managed to pull herself out of bed and get dressed she went to the saloon and sat in the table her father had frequently used.  
  
The two talked for hours and Bobby finally had to close the tavern around them. He didn't mind he was happy to see Ella laughing and talking. Her father had been his best friend.  
  
Chris fingered the brim of his hat that rested on the table. He didn't realize where the time had gone. The young woman sitting across from him had been a breath of fresh air. She laughed with her whole being creating a free spirit around her and Chris was impressed by it. Granted the pain in her eyes was still there due to her father's passing, but she seemed to be handling it. She acted in a way that made the people around her know she grew up in home that expected well-bred behavior, but she had a wild streak in her that sparked Chris' imagination. She wasn't like many women he'd met along the way. Ella was open, and she talked about anything and everything. She drank 'sarsaparilla' like it was going out of style, and she wasn't shy about anything.  
  
Ella stood up and stretched her back. "Do you need a place to sleep for the night?" she asked quietly. Before he could answer she continued, "I got an extra bed if you do."  
  
"That would be greatly appreciated." Chris smiled getting to his feet then following Ella Gains out of the Tavern.  
  
******  
  
Their relationship was fast and furious. They tried to keep it quiet but the whole town was talking about the young handsome man who had brought Ella Gaines out from her period of mourning. To make it look like they were staying within the 'respectable' behavior. Chris rented a room in town, but quietly left it just after dark then he would return again before sunrise. If the people in town knew about their improper relationship, they didn't speak of it.  
  
Ella was wild; when she and Chris were alone, she didn't care about traditions, proper etiquette, or other people's opinions…at least when she and Chris were alone. All other times she did. She was still a proper lady after all.  
  
Chris threw his hat on the table when Ella came out of her room dressed in only a simple nightgown. She'd made it herself because she was unwilling to have it ordered. Someone might misunderstand her intentions. Chris smiled as her hair fell down around her shoulders. There was no denying her beauty. Her tall slender form seemed to glow beneath the almost sheer gown.  
  
"I wasn't sure you were going to make it," Ella huskily said, walking to the counter in the kitchen. She poured herself and her guest a glass of her homemade whiskey.  
  
"Mrs. Millie was up late doing her books." Chris smiled taking the shot glass.  
  
Ella pulled the tie string from the back of her neck and let her gown fall to the ground at her feet. "You want to drink whiskey all night or do something more…"  
  
"Confrontational?" Chris finished for her. He tried to give his best stern look but failed when Ella let out a loud laugh. He laughed with her as he grabbed her small delicate waist and carried her into the bedroom.  
  
The room was small but elegant. A dresser filled with ladies perfume and brushes sat up against the far wall. Chris none to gracefully tossed a giggling Ella onto the bed. Then quickly he undressed and joined her under the covers.  
  
"What's so funny?" he asked, wondering if he should be concerned.  
  
"I bought one of Mr. Daniels horses today," she replied with a smile.  
  
"Damn," Chris muttered, sitting up in bed.  
  
Ella stopped laughing and touched his back. "What?"  
  
"I need to go take a look."  
  
"You're telling me that you are leaving this bed, with, need I remind you, a very willing partner to go look at a horse."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Ella sighed and then got a wicked look in her eyes. Suddenly she got out of bed and grabbed her shoes.  
  
"What are you doin'?" Chris asked, as Ella threw him his boots.  
  
"Let's go," she demanded, grabbing her parasol and gloves.  
  
"You're not dressed," Chris said, watching her in amusement.  
  
"Neither are you." Ella slipped into her gloves and headed for the door. "Besides, nobody will be around to see anything and…the barn might make for an interesting…change." She grinned mischievously.  
  
"Hell, can't think of a better place to do it than on the back of a horse." Chris chuckled, not expecting Ella to take him seriously.  
  
"Now, that, I've never done." She grinned. "Bareback Larabee…I like the ring of that," she said, heading out of the house.  
  
"That's not exactly the nickname I was looking for." Chris slipped into his boots and headed off after her. At least it wasn't something like Deadwood Dick.  
  
******  
  
For the first time in years Chris felt…at home. Days had turned into weeks, and those weeks had turned into two months. Ella had been content running her father's store while Chris had taken a job as a broncobuster. Ella had given him permission to break young colts at her farm. It was a small place, but it had a few corrals and that was all he needed to get his job done. The Army was buying up young broke horses as soon as they became available. The war was coming.  
  
Chris slapped his leg with the lariat causing dust and debris to scatter off his pant leg. The young spirited colt jumped in reaction but continued to lope around the arena. The stirrups flopped precariously against the chestnut's side.  
  
Ella came out of the farmhouse with a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her skirts billowed around her legs as she got closer to the corral. Chris looked up and smiled. The colt slowed to a walk as his handler headed toward the fence.  
  
"Dinner's about done," Ella said, seductively kissing Chris on his lips.  
  
"Let me finish up this colt and I'll be right in." Chris smiled and headed back towards the chestnut.  
  
Ella stepped up on the bottom rail and rested her arms on the top of the corral fence. She watched as Chris, with his expert hands, handled the young horse.  
  
Chris pulled the cotton lead rope up over the horse's neck and prepared to get on. The colt shook his head and breathed heavily. Chris mounted up, and as expected, the animal blew, kicking his hooves into the air and sticking his head between his front knees, he bucked with all his might. After only a few minutes the colt settled down but when a bird flew up from one of the nearby trees the horse spooked and jumped sideways. The animal's right front and right rear legs went through the wood slats of the corral. Chris jumped off to try and avoid getting tangled in the fence but the spirited chestnut jumped again, causing his rider to fall to the right. Chris, the horse, and the fence went down and everything went black.  
  
******  
  
Pain sprang up from every part of Chris' body. Even his hair hurt. He opened his eyes when he felt himself move and noticed Ella sitting beside him. The room was dark, except for a lamp that was set at a low glow. The window was open, allowing the cool night air to enter. Ella wiped his forehead with a soft damp cloth and she smiled when Chris' eyes finally focused on her.  
  
"What happened?" he asked. His voice surprised even himself and Ella carefully lifted his head and allowed him to drink some water.  
  
"You don't remember?"  
  
Chris thought a moment before shaking his head. He remembered eating hot cakes for breakfast at Mrs. Millie's in town but that was about all.  
  
"You've been unconscious for nineteen hours," she smiled when he threw her a look of disbelief. "You came off that chestnut colt…I called on doctor Perkins because you were such a mess. The doctor said you cracked a couple ribs and sprained your right knee. You also had a concussion, but he said that with a few days rest, you'll be back to tryin' to break your neck."  
  
"How's the colt?" Chris asked, wanting to know.  
  
"I had to have Mr. Daniels put him down…the colt broke his leg."  
  
"Damn," he muttered, before looking back to Ella. "I shouldn't stay here."  
  
"It won't be your first time," Ella responded, with a mischievous grin.  
  
"People know I'm here…what'll they say?" Chris threw the blanket back and started to get up but was stopped by Ella's soft hand on his bare chest.  
  
"Nobody's going to say anything," she confirmed. "They know you're hurt, and besides," she grinned, "you'll need someone to nurse you for a while." She wrung the washrag out in the basin again and turned her attention back to Chris. "Besides, people believe what they want to believe."  
  
"Exactly," Chris chastised.  
  
Ella grinned, then moved in beside Chris on the bed and rested her head on his shoulder. "Let them talk."  
  
Chris grinned and closed his eyes as Ella nestled in beside him. This was scandalous and he knew it. His mother would be ashamed of him, and his father…well, his father would show his disappointment in other ways. But they weren't here anymore. He was living his life on his own terms…and enjoying it. Chris took a deep breath and dozed off.  
  
"I love you," Ella said quietly, thinking her partner and lover had fallen asleep.  
  
Chris looked up at the ceiling unsure of what to say or do. He didn't love her, not the way he should. He knew that. Granted, he wanted a family and a woman to come home to at night and children to tuck into bed. Ella didn't want children; she wanted to live free, and on her own terms. However, Chris knew that if he let it be known that his greatest desire was a family she would birth him all the children she could. She was that way. And he had to wonder why.  
  
******  
  
Sixteen newly broke horses were tied together at their necks waiting patiently for their handler to finish saddling his mount. Buckshot stood patiently as his cinch was tightened. Chris patted him gently on the neck before replacing the stirrup to its original spot. He winced when he moved the wrong way, as his still-healing ribs protested to the quick movement.  
  
"When will you be back?" Ella asked, handing him a knapsack filled with food. She watched as he quickly stuck it into his saddlebag and then turned to face her.  
  
"I don't know that I will," Chris responded truthfully. He tried not to break under Ella's questioning stare. "I'm enlisting. With the war coming, I thought it would be best."  
  
She brushed her skirt with her hand and nodded her head in understanding. She knew that if she were to say something she would cry and she didn't want to cry in front of this man.  
  
"You'll be all right," he encouraged.  
  
Ella smiled. "I won't forget you," she said sadly.  
  
Chris gently took her arm and kissed her cheek. "I hope you find what you're looking for."  
  
She stepped back and stuck her hands into the pockets of her skirt. She fingered the simple broach that she had taken from her first love. She was convinced he would be her last. Ella watched him mount up on his horse, he tipped his hat to her then with sixteen horses in tow, he rode off the property.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Lieutenant Jon Harper, of the Union Army, handed Chris the money for the horses he'd just sold. "You joinin' up?" he asked.  
  
"Are you asking?" Chris responded, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"Hell no," the lieutenant gasped. "This war ain't goin' to last more 'an a few hours. We'll chase those Reb soldiers back and show 'em how the Union can't be separated…don't know who they think they are wantin' to be their own country or somethin'."  
  
"Don't you think you're underestimating 'em?" Chris asked, stuffing his money into his billfold.  
  
"What? You think we are?" The lieutenant chuckled. "Hell, they'll probably get them slaves of theirs out to fight for 'em. And we all know darkies can't fight."  
  
Chris didn't say anything but he decided that he wasn't going to enlist in the Army here. There was too much of a chance that he might end up serving under the person standing in front of him. He'd learned a long time ago never to underestimate an opponent. Even the smallest horse could kill a man if given the opportunity.  
  
******  
  
Chris walked into the union army camp that was stationed twenty miles east of Victory, Indiana. He never thought in a million years that he'd return to his home state, only to leave again to fight in the war. Union blue was all he could see. Men from all walks of life were here, ranging in ages from adolescents to elderly. They were all here for one reason: to maintain the integrity of the United States by keeping the country together.  
  
"You enlisting?" a man wearing a full dress uniform asked.  
  
"Yes, sir." Chris held Buckshot's reins tightly in his hand.  
  
"You got any skills?" he asked, looking Chris and his horse over.  
  
"I've lived on the land most of my life, so I can do just about anything. Plus I've got a good reputation breaking horses."  
  
The man smiled and stuck his hand out for the young man to shake. "I'm Colonel Webber of the 8th Regiment Indiana Calvary also known as the 39th Regiment of Volunteers…looks like you came to the right place."  
  
Chris shook the colonel's hand. "I'm Chris Larabee."  
  
"You can sign your papers and get your uniform from Sergeant Warren. We're heading for North Virginia in two days, so make sure you're ready to ride." Colonel Webber pointed to a tent where several men, some in uniforms, others in plain clothes, stood outside waiting to get in. He then gave Chris a reassuring smile then went on about his business.  
  
Chris walked toward the tent and immediately noticed how calm everyone seemed to be. Young men joked with each other, while others sat around their sleep tents preparing evening meals.  
  
"You enlistin'?" a young man asked. He couldn't have been a day over seventeen. His slick black hair was cut short up and around his ears and his eyes were young and bright with a gold tint. He wasn't very tall, much shorter than Chris' six foot one inch frame.  
  
"Yeah," Chris sighed, "I'm enlisting."  
  
"Me too," the youth replied excitedly. "My folks told me to join up." John Davis, as he later introduced himself, continued to talk. And talk was all he did.  
  
Chris, much to his dismay, ended up getting paired with the younger man for their sleep tent. John stuck to his new 'buddy' like bees did to honey. He was like a kid on a new adventure. He talked about everything from his life on the farm to the excitement he felt about the war.  
  
The excitement was everywhere. Union soldiers were convinced that the war was going to end soon. As far as they were concerned, South was of little concern. They would be wiped out in a matter of hours. Just because they had been the victors at Ft. Sumter, didn't mean a thing. The South was weak, had fewer soldiers, and less money. The North intended to take advantage of that.  
  
******  
  
Chris fingered the cavalry saber with a look of awe and disbelief. It was an elegant weapon, long, and slightly curved at one end. At twenty-four, inexperienced in battle, and unfamiliar with such a weapon, he already knew it was impractical. His issued Remington Army Revolver rested at his side, next to his familiar Sharps Carbine rifle. Resting in his saddlebags was ammunition and his personal effects. His uniform was blue, bluer than he'd ever imagined. It was standard dress for all enlisted cavalrymen.  
  
John had changed into his uniform and now stood admiring himself. His pants were too big and his saber almost touched the ground as it hung precariously from his belt. "How do I look?" He asked, with a grin that reached his ears.  
  
"Like a kid wearing his pa's clothes." Chris responded without humor in his voice.  
  
"Hell, doubt very much the war 'ill last long enough for me to grow into 'em." John smiled, then looked around at the campfires that burned throughout the grounds. Men sat around the blazes drinking coffee and talking about their futures. "I heard tell that we're headin' for Virginia to end this little skirmish. Sure hope I get to kill someone 'fore it's over." He pulled his newly issued pistol out of his holster and eyed it longingly.  
  
Chris just shook his head. He hadn't killed anyone and truthfully he didn't have a desire to. His father had taught him that killing wasn't something to be desired. And Chris had always respected what his father had to say. But this was different. The war had arrived and he felt the need to rightfully defend his country. The South's desire to secede was wrong and it had to be stopped.  
  
******  
  
The trek to Virginia was slow and hot. The regiment had heard about the Battle at Hoke's Run and the North was finally beginning to realize the South may have more grit than they'd originally given them credit for. Colonel Webber had met up with General Porter's men just south of Sudley Springs and together, they formed into two divisions that would support General Burnside at Manassas.  
  
The North's anticipation was to finish this war at Manassas. They would send the Confederacy back with their tails stuck between their legs. Then they could all go home to their families. The men's attitudes ranged from apprehension to excitement. The closer they got to their destination the more determined they grew.  
  
It was strange how the different regiments stayed together, despite the availability they had to commune with others. Infantrymen stayed with infantrymen, artillerymen stayed with artillerymen, and the cavalry stayed within the cavalry ranks. They all tried to hide their fears of dying but they were still there. Who would survive, who would go home, and who would die? There wasn't any question as to who would win.  
  
The troops didn't know how difficult the road was that lay ahead. The generals knew, but due to pressure from Washington they had to continue. And continue they would.  
  
******  
  
Early on July 21st the Battle of Bull Run started. Chris was appalled, as men were cut down, while civilians looked on. Soldiers continued to fire, cannons roared, horses screamed, and men young and old cried for their mothers. The war was here…and it would not end today.  
  
When General McDowell ordered the retreat it was official that the North had lost the battle. Casualties had not been high and it was estimated that less than 3,000 men perished for the Union. What cost them most was the amount of supplies, weapons, and equipment that was left behind.  
  
Chris looked on, as John continued to cry. Only after a few moments into the battle the youth had started crying and he had yet to stop. He'd froze, not firing a shot, only looking in horror as the air was quickly filled with smoke from the gunfire. John hadn't been the only soldier to freeze out of fear. All the men were inexperienced and naïve, hardly any of them had training, and those who did didn't have enough. For the first time, they were all getting a taste of what was yet to come. Because the South had been declared the victor at Bull Run, they'd collected their dead and wounded first then the North was able to collect their own. Medical staff from each regiment collected and counted the bodies while regiment leaders met and waited for orders.  
  
John wiped his nose and face leaving streaks of dirt across his cheeks. His chin continued to quiver as he tried to keep more tears from falling. He was ashamed of his behavior and he was afraid because of his cowardice. He hadn't fire a single shot. It was obvious to him that many others felt the same. He wasn't the only one with red eyes and a slump in his shoulders. He found Chris tending his horse and noticed right away the defensive stance and determination.  
  
"I…ah…" John paused, "heard that Colonel Webber took a bullet 'n the leg…they don't know if he's gonna make it."  
  
Chris nodded his head in understanding but continued to remain quiet. He knew the kid needed to hear some encouraging words only he didn't have any to share. John wasn't the only person who needed some good news or a word of support. Just because the Indiana farm boy didn't allow his emotions to surface didn't mean he didn't have any. He was as crushed as the rest of the men.  
  
"What's gonna happen to us if'n he dies?" John asked, biting his bottom lip.  
  
"Don't rightly know," Chris responded humbly.  
  
"Did you think it was goin' to be like that?"  
  
"No," was the simple yet complicated reply.  
  
"Me neither." Josh looked around the grounds as men sat at their small fires.  
  
******  
  
Colonel Webber not only lost his leg, but his life as well. Fever had set in after the amputation and little could be done for him. It was a great loss for the men of the 8th but life had to go on. The men did what was asked of them, they prepared for the next battle, took their orders without question, and they faced their fears as best they could.  
  
Several men from the 39th and 8th Indiana Regiments were transferred to the service of General Ambrose Burnside. Chris was included in that transfer. He was ready and willing to go. The war was in full force and he intended to do his part.  
  
John was sad to see his new friend go but he quickly found himself in the company of others more his age. Chris didn't mind. The kid was too eager for his liking, though his heart was in the right place; the seventeen year old was just that…seventeen. Granted, the tall muscular blonde was only seven years older than John but it was still enough to put a difference between them.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Due to the lack of qualified military officers men of all ages were quickly accepting the challenge of leading divisions of soldiers. Men, some as young as twenty-five, were getting commissioned as colonels and generals. The 'Boy Generals', as they were called, were not only common in the north but the south as well. Able-bodied men were desperately needed. Even Chris found himself with sergeant's stripes despite never having gone to military school or serving in battle prior to Bull Run but because of his leadership ability he was quickly commissioned.  
  
******  
  
Chris loved working with the horses and Buckshot was turning out to be a great charger, however, the young blonde was asking himself if the North had the right to be doing what they were doing. Everyone around him was convinced that the South had to be put in its place, and Chris understood the importance of keeping the country together, but that alone wasn't enough to soothe the voice in his head. The war had started long before the 12th of April. The South had decided to secede because of their political views. They wanted state rights as opposed to the North's view of a central government. Of course it wasn't as simple as that there were other issues involved but nothing was more important to President Lincoln than sustaining the United States as a whole.  
  
When the Union army inadvertently discovered Robert E. Lee's campaign plans, it opened a door that the North was in desperate need of. As a result George McClellan intended to strike in the areas of Lee's army that were scattered too thinly. He was determined to end the war in the East with the newfound information.  
  
Chris waited on his horse while orders were given. Buckshot chomped at his bit but stood perfectly still waiting for his cue. A fog, enriched with smoke, engulfed the landscape making it difficult to see. The roar of cannons could be heard over the blasts of gunfire. When his order came, Chris and several members of his regiment were moved to aid Brigadier General John Gibbon at the front line.  
  
The fighting had been fierce and Gibbon's men had been hard hit. Burnside hadn't been the only general to send him support and still they were hard pressed. Chris could hear soldiers in the field crying for their mothers and screaming in pain. He could just barely make out forms of bodies lying on the ground before him. It was a sight that was becoming all too familiar.  
  
When Robert E. Lee retreated, the Northern soldiers took advantage. They had managed to take South Mountain but it had cost them dearly. When the fog of gunfire had lifted soldiers in blue and gray lay dead in the battered fields. Medical staff searched desperately for signs of life while other soldiers carried away their dead.  
  
Chris pulled Buckshot to a halt and watched, as a lone rider wearing a similar blue uniform rode toward him. It was hard to ignore the bloodshed around him, so he focused on the mountain they'd fought so hard to take. As the lone rider drew closer, Chris identified him from his insignia as one of General Joseph Hooker's men. The soldier was only a few years younger than himself if he had to guess. He rode a tall, lean chestnut that had a single white sock on its left rear leg.  
  
"Howdy," the young man said with a hint of enthusiasm, despite the carnage around him. His dark brown hair poked out from under his kepi. He was tall, that much was obvious, despite being mounted. "Name's Buck Wilmington." He smiled when brown eyes met blue, then continued, "Can ya tell me where I can report to…" he looked at the piece of paper he held in his hand, "Lieutenant Simpson?"  
  
Buckshot nipped at the chestnut, then stopped when his handler pulled at his reins.  
  
"You get transferred?" Chris asked.  
  
Buck grinned mischievously. "Well," he scratched his chin and looked out toward the trees in the distance. "I didn't get along real well with my CO…he didn't know how to treat a lady proper."  
  
Chris returned the private's grin with a smile of his own and motioned for the newcomer to follow him. "I'm Chris Larabee, looks like you'll be in my regiment."  
  
"Well, Chris, it's good to meet ya." Buck stuck his hand out and grinned when Larabee shook it forcefully. "You got family waitin' for ya back home?"  
  
"Nope," Chris responded sadly.  
  
"Left me a pretty little gal in a town called Rickettsville. Told her I was joinin' up and to wait on me cuz I'd be right back." Buck shook his head at the memory.  
  
"Think she's still waitin'?" Chris asked with a smile.  
  
"Well," Buck grinned, "if anyone could make a woman wait that long it'd be me."  
  
Chris choked back a laugh. "You always this confident when it comes to the fairer sex."  
  
"Who needs confidence when you're as good lookin' as I am."  
  
"I guess that would explain it," Chris responded with a laugh.  
  
******  
  
Buck Wilmington turned out to be a breath of fresh air not only for Chris, but the rest of Lieutenant Simpson's men as well. He told stories of his 'lady friends' like most men talked about heroes of old. He could remember a woman's name, the curve of her hip, or the smell of her hair like a child could remember their favorite toy. He could tell the same story twice, and he did quite often, only listeners couldn't tell the difference.  
  
There was an instant bond where Larabee and Wilmington were concerned. There couldn't have been two more different people in the world, but they found an unbreakable friendship in each other. Buck was calm and collected when Chris was hot headed and aggravated. And it was vice versa.  
  
The two men rode together, drank together, and told each other stories that nobody else would care about. Chris learned about Buck's mother and her determination to raise her son, despite the odds against her. Buck learned about Chris' own family, the way they had died, and the way they had lived.  
  
******  
  
It had been only three days after the Battle at South Mountain and the men were on their way to Sharpsburg. General Burnside was ordered by McClellan to attack Robert E. Lee's right flank on the seventeenth of September 1862. And so he did. Within the first hour of the Battle at Antietam over 13,000 men fell from wounds or death. It was a bloody day indeed, as the brown colored earth slowly turned to a crimson hue and bodies lay upon the ground like shattered rocks.  
  
Buck and Chris fought side by side as the cavalry, infantry, and artillerymen tried to get across what was now being called 'Burnside's Bridge'. Men, horses, and wildlife were cut down like alfalfa ready for harvest. There was no mercy for anyone. They were pushing Confederate General James Longstreet back toward the city of Sharpsburg with success, until Confederate General A.P. Hill appeared late in the day, hitting Burnside and his men hard at his left flank.  
  
Chris yelped in pain when the bullet struck him low in the thigh of his left leg. He slid off Buckshot and landed hard on the rough terrain. Buckshot stood by his downed rider looking wildly about. Chris groaned while trying to apply pressure to his leg watching as blood seeped through his fingers. The pain was unbearable. Never had he felt such anguish.  
  
Buck yelled when he saw Buckshot standing loyally above his master. "Chris!" he yelled again. He then flew off his own horse and rushed toward his friend.  
  
Chris groaned louder as Buck wrapped a strip of cloth around the bleeding wound. "Damn that hurts," he muttered under his breath.  
  
"Hell, Stud, you'll be back to servicin' your mares in no time," Buck said, with a grin.  
  
"Is that all you think about?"  
  
When the whistle of a cannon roared, Buck threw his body over Chris' and waited for the impending explosion. Debris ranging from dirt particles to bits of human flesh rained down on the two friends. Their horses had run in the opposite direction and both Chris and Buck hoped they'd made it to safety before any harm could come to them.  
  
Soldiers in blue looked wildly about, trying to decide their best plan of action. They ignored the wounded and dead that lay at their feet. Blue and gray uniforms decorated the once green landscape. Smoke from the gunfire filled the air, making it difficult to see.  
  
"Can you walk?" Buck asked, sliding off of his friend.  
  
"Just pull me up," Chris demanded, through clenched teeth.  
  
Buck hauled the tall blonde to his feet, carefully positioning Chris' shoulder over his own. Looking at the carnage around him Buck started back toward base camp to get his friend some medical attention.  
  
Chris leaned heavily against Wilmington as he body shook due to the abuse. He'd managed to pull his jacket off, as sweat now coated his body. His leg was on fire, but he kept his jaw clenched tightly against the pain and the urge to cry out. The leg had stopped bleeding but it had left a red trail down to his boot.  
  
Buck kept his head down trying to ignore the cries of distress from not only union soldiers but Reb's as well. He decided to cut across Snavely Ford, a small piece of land that lay just south west of Burnside's Bridge. It would get them back to their rank without taking them through the last bit of carnage that the battle had left. It was something both men were ready and willing to avoid.  
  
The ground was harsh with steep inclines, rolling terrain, and rocky outcroppings but it was easier to traverse than the fields of bodies. Buck hadn't been the only soldier who had the same idea of bypassing the bridge.  
  
It was an image that would be imprinted on the minds of both Chris and Buck for the rest of their lives. An image that summed up the war as a whole. A young confederate soldier…a boy really, who didn't look a day over fourteen. He sat on the ground next to a black soldier who was wearing a gray uniform that was now covered in blood. The black confederate soldier was gut shot, a death sentence for sure. He grasped the hand of the youth tightly as pain racked through his battered body.  
  
Crisp green eyes looked up but made no move to go for his weapon as he tried to comfort his dying friend. Evidence of tears shed streaked his dirt- covered cheeks that were still too tender to grow a mustache or beard.  
  
"Let 'im go Buck," Chris said, pulling his eyes from the sight. For the first time they were seeing the enemy as they saw themselves. They were people protecting their homes and way of life. It was a sight both men would have been happy to never have laid eyes on.  
  
Buck increased his hold on Chris as they made their way across the field. Wilmington jumped when he heard the sound of a gunshot. He turned and saw the youth gently rocking over the dead body of his friend. A mercy killing, if it could be called that, and Buck wondered if he'd be strong enough to do that for a friend…he didn't think he would be.  
  
******  
  
Chris screamed when the doctor stuck his scalpel into the leg of his patient. Medical supplies were in great need and anesthesia was saved for those who needed it most. Doctors relied on what they'd come to call 'surgical shock' as a natural anesthetic. The problem with that lay with surgical shock was that less than seventy percent survived.  
  
Whiskey was poured over the wound and then quickly wrapped in clean cotton bindings. Chris didn't wait to be moved, despite feeling light headed and weak. He stood up on shaky legs and hobbled out of the hospital tent. Thankfully, Buck was there to catch him before he fell to the ground in a heap.  
  
The tent flaps were covered in blood and a pile of amputated limbs rested less than fifty feet from soldiers, many of whom were trying to recover, while others lay slowly dying, and some mourned the loss of friends and family.  
  
"Mind if I tell ya somethin'?" Buck asked with a smile, helping the wounded man up.  
  
"Depends." Chris pulled himself back up onto unsteady feet.  
  
"You're the first man that's ever fallen into my arms…" Buck laughed. "And I pray to God you're the last."  
  
Chris laughed to the point of almost losing his footing. "What's the matter? I'm not pretty enough for ya?"  
  
"You're lacking the uh…more feminine features that I find important…" Buck made a motion to his chest with both hands and raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Feminine features indeed," Chris said with a chuckle.  
  
******  
  
Chris had been one of the lucky few that survived his wound. Thanks to Buck's quick thinking and actions on the field, the young Larabee was spared from gangrene, infection, and the fever that usually followed such injuries. He was back on his feet within days and riding by the end of the week. Thankfully both Buckshot and Pitch had made it back to the regiment and like the devoted animals they were they waited for their handlers.  
  
The Battle of Antietam turned out to be one of the bloodiest of the war. Over 22,000 men were killed, missing, or wounded. More than half were of Union soldiers. With an army of over 75,000 men the Northern Army still could not defeat the confederates 38,000.  
  
As a result of this battle President Abraham Lincoln passed the preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. The war was in full force. No longer was the North fighting to keep the Union together: it was fighting against the Confederacy's way of life.  
  
Chris threw the paper he'd been reading down. The Union was wrong. He now understood why some men from the North fought for the Confederacy. What the Union Army saw as a Civil War, a war protecting the country's integrity, the South saw as a Revolution. The only way the North was going to win this war was through time, because time was something the South didn't have.  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Over the next year and a half Chris and Buck continued to fight side by side. They fought in such battles as Petersburg, South Mills, Totopotomoy Creek, and Fredericksburg. They won some, while tragically losing others. The war had been hard on everyone. Boys had joined up, only to change from naïve youths to war hardened men. No longer would they look at life through green eyes…now, everything came with a price.  
  
******  
  
The Union Army looked in awe at the land before them. The Wilderness, as it had been called long before the war began, was just that…a wilderness. Men had tried too tame to land, mostly miners and entrepreneurs, had cut paths into the land trying to tame it. But the Wilderness would not be tamed and the timber that had been cut grew back with a vengeance.  
  
Despite the thick foliage, second growth trees, and rough terrain the men of the union army were ordered to march in two columns into the Wilderness. There were 175,000 men, all ready to face General Lee and his confederate army.  
  
Chris and Buck rode side by side into the dense forest. They couldn't believe the environment in which they were entering. Generals Grant and Meade had informed them that they intended to push through the Wilderness and fight Lee on the other side. The idea was good, however, Lee had different plans. He intended to use the land to his benefit.  
  
Early in the afternoon of the 5th of May 1864, the Battle of Wilderness started. The Cavalry had entered in the column to the east to, once again, fight the familiar confederate General A.P. Hill. Men fought not only the enemy but the land as well. The unfamiliar territory, rough terrain, and gunfire fog made the fighting almost unbearable. But General Grant pushed on, determined to force Lee and his army back.  
  
The battle continued to rage on through the night only stopping briefly for moments of complete silence. As soon as the light entered the sky on May 6th the fighting continued on. Grant's army had managed to cut Lee's army almost in half at the southern most end of the fighting. That was until General Longstreet and his men showed up.  
  
Chris watched as Longstreet's men circled around and almost cut the Union Army in half. They slimmed their own numbers down covering more ground with fewer men. It was an amazing feat and both Chris and Buck understood how good the Confederate general truly was. He had done more for the South with fewer men, less money, and less support than all the Union Generals combined.  
  
However, General Grant had different plans. In spite of Longstreet's gallant effert to stop Burnside, Grant pressed on. The losses were great for the Union losing over 18,000 men in just two days but they managed to push Lee back. Therefore subsequently, it was the beginning of the end for the Confederate army.  
  
******  
  
When Robert E. Lee surrendered at Appomattox on April 10, 1865 the Northern Army rejoiced. The war was over. Men who'd left home when the war started were now heading back to their lands, their families, and their homes. Others found a new home within the army and they decided to stay servicing their country. Despite the conclusion of the war, no one who fought it would leave completely unscathed, and many would battle their inner memories the rest of their lives. Chris and Buck had enough and decided to leave.  
  
Both men left the South without looking back. It was a time full of images that they wanted to forget. They rode hard through towns they didn't care to ever return to. They drank hard, caroused, and worked only when they had to. Their journey took them from Virginia to the Unorganized Territory.  
  
They rode into Eagle Bend with one thing on their minds…getting drunk. Buck, however, intended to find a shapely young woman to spend the evening with. Chris was basically on his own.  
  
The saloon was dusty and filled with farmers and ranchers spending their evening gaming and drinking beer. Saloon girls strutted around with their hair bouncing off their shoulders and their hips purposely brushing up against potential customers. Beer was splashed off glasses and tables onto the floor. Spittoons had been carefully placed around the room but were rarely hit. Tobacco smoke filled the air as well as sweat and ladies toilet water, a combination that most men found…irresistible.  
  
Chris leaned against the bar as Buck quickly disappeared with a new conquest. "Beer," he said to the bartender who was already filling his glass.  
  
"You plan on goin' to the fair tomorrow?" a young man asked, leaning against the bar next to Chris.  
  
The tall blonde looked at the youth, wondering if he was talking to him, when he noticed a pair of dark gray eyes looking at him. "Hell," Chris sighed, "last time I was at a fair I nearly got my nose broke."  
  
"Must 'ave been some fair." The youth grinned and introduced himself as Lucas James. The two talked for a while before Lucas excused himself and went to join his friends at a back table.  
  
Chris continued to watch the crowd wondering about the next town he'd stop at. Would Buck continue to ride with him or would he join up with the Rangers like he'd planned to? They wouldn't ride together forever but Chris was sure they would remain friends for a very long time. It wasn't an understatement to say that they had their share of disagreements, of course they did, but they never let those disagreements come between them.  
  
The bartender told him where the best place was to get a room for the night and Chris disappeared through the batwing doors. The night air was thick, but clear and for an instant, it took him back to the hot summers in Indiana. Horses rested tied to the hitching posts outside the saloon, swatting flies with their tails and shaking their heads. The night fires had been lit and only a few stragglers walked through the town.  
  
The brothel at the far end of town rang wild with excitement and Chris had to wonder what kind of a show Buck was giving the 'ladies'. Slowly the Indiana farm boy made his way down the boardwalk and entered the hotel with the intention of getting a good night's sleep. He wasn't sure where tomorrow would take him, nor did he particularly care.  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Buck slapped Chris on the shoulder as they stepped out onto the walkway. The smell of fresh baked pies filled the air and immediately Buck Wilmington, who was now growing a mustache because it made the ladies giggle, followed his nose leaving his friend who was finding it difficult to keep from laughing.  
  
Buck had always told Chris that if he had one weakness it would be the soft touch of a beautiful woman, but Chris didn't think that was all. If someone was cooking or there was beer in the vicinity, then Buck would usually find it.  
  
The other side of the street had tables, food, and ladies willing to share their fine cooking with all the men in town. Laughter could be heard all through town, as people from all walks of life came to the small fair. Next to the livery, men had gathered to exhibit their abilities at breaking young horses that a nearby rancher had provided.  
  
Following in Buck's wake, Chris' gaze swept over the entire spectacle before settling on a breathtaking sight. He'd never believed in angels until today. When he saw her his heart stopped. Her long brown hair had been pulled back away from her face and a few strands of curls swept across her shoulders. Her face, Chris decided, was the shape of a perfect heart, and when she smiled it lit up like an angel's.  
  
"Pie?" she asked, raising a plate for the handsome man now standing in front of her.  
  
Chris jumped not realizing he'd walked across the street and now stood at the woman's table. He smiled shyly and took the plate from the outstretched hand. Uneasily, he looked around and found Buck with a plate of his own, two tables down, flirting with the cook. "You make this?" he asked, feeling like an idiot for asking such a stupid question.  
  
"My own recipe." She smiled proudly.  
  
Perhaps it was the right question to ask.  
  
"I use honey instead of sugar," she continued.  
  
"Not giving your secret away, are you?"  
  
"It was my mama's recipe before she died, so it's not really my secret," she replied, as she patted the front of her apron. "My name's Sarah Connelly."  
  
"I'm Chris, Chris Larabee."  
  
"You new around here?" Sarah asked, trying to busy herself with her pies.  
  
"Yeah." Chris nodded.  
  
Suddenly, Buck bumped into Chris wearing a smile and cherry pie filling on his jaw. "Howdy ma'am." He removed his hat, noticing right away that he'd interrupted something.  
  
"Hello," Sarah said, through giggles at the man who reminded her of a marionette. She watched as he sheepishly wiped the pie filling from his jaw and licked his fingers.  
  
"Buck," a woman with raven black hair and mischievous eyes whined, heading off down the street. "You coming?"  
  
"That's my call to arms," Buck said with a gleam in his eyes. He backed off the walkway and fell off landing in a thud on his backside.  
  
Sarah laughed quickly covering her mouth as Buck stood up. His grin never left his face as he patted his backside down with his hat and then took off after his latest conquest.  
  
"You'll have to pardon Buck's…"  
  
"It's okay," Sarah stopped him from continuing, "it was good to laugh."  
  
"You should do it more often." Chris bit his lip wondering if he'd said something he shouldn't have. A slight tinge of red appeared on the young woman's cheeks.  
  
Sarah continued to hand out slices of her pies as the crowd started to grow. Chris, without thinking about it, moved back behind the table and started helping her.  
  
The first uncomfortable moments soon passed and Chris found himself telling jokes, stories, and making fun of himself like he'd never done before. Sarah laughed so hard she had to stop him from saying anything more just so she could catch her breath.  
  
It wasn't lost on anyone who knew Sarah that she was smitten. Some of the older women in town stood back behind their tables; serving their best cooking, all the while watching out for the young girl. They had been friends with her mother and they intended to do their part in looking out for her. The young man that had captured Sarah's attention had captured theirs as well. He was handsome and they understood his appeal. With his short blonde hair, dark green eyes, and a tall, lean muscular frame; it was strange that he wasn't married already.  
  
It was good to see Sarah laugh again. After her mother died, she taken on the responsibility of caring for her father alone. Hank Connelly wasn't an invalid, but when it came to cooking, cleaning, and managing the books he could get more confused than a day old calf. So Sarah, being the dutiful daughter, stood by her father, helping him with life's normal routine.  
  
"Sarah," the young woman's father called out to her from further down the boardwalk. He was a tall, determined man and he saw the threat imposed in the young man standing with his beloved child.  
  
"Papa," Sarah smiled, disarmingly, "this is Chris, he's new in town…I was telling him to look up Mr. Furgus for a job." She tried to ignore the disapproving look her father was giving her.  
  
"Get your things and go to the wagon," he demanded, leaving no room for an argument. He then watched as his daughter picked up her pie pans and without looking up she rushed past him in embarrassment.  
  
Chris stood his ground as he watched the young woman clear her table and rush away.  
  
"I don't want no drifter gettin' any ideas about my daughter." Hank stood in front of the young blonde who was an inch or so taller than himself. "I won't have it," he snarled.  
  
"Your daughter is old enough to make her own decisions, Mr. Connelly." There wasn't a threat behind Chris' words it was just a statement.  
  
"We'll see," Sarah's father turned abruptly and followed in his daughter's footsteps.  
  
Chris followed him with his eyes, until his gaze rested on the sight of Sarah sitting on the seat of the wagon trying desperately not to cry. When her father slipped up onto the seat next to her she gave him a forced smiled and then glanced back at Chris. With a show of understanding the lean blonde tipped his hat to the young woman who had, in a matter of minutes, captured his heart and soul. She smiled warmly at him and he watched as the wagon slowly exited the town.  
  
Chris was home.  
  
******  
  
Buck entered the saloon and grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was sitting in front of his long time friend. "So who was that pretty little filly that had you all tied up in knots?" he asked, flipping a chair around so he could rest his arms on the back.  
  
Chris couldn't hide his smile. "Her name's Sarah Connelly." She really did have a way about her that made him want to learn more about the things she enjoyed, what she did in her spare time, and what she was thinking, both good and bad.  
  
"Well," Buck knowingly smiled, "by the look on your face she's got you hooked." He took another sip of the whiskey and looked around the small saloon. "Looks like a right nice place to stay for awhile." He made it sound more like an idea than an obvious suggestion.  
  
"There's a rancher not far from town looking for a few hired hands by the name of Wade Furgus."  
  
"Sounds promisin'. How much he payin'?" Buck looked around the saloon and smiled when one of the working girls made her way to the table.  
  
"I'm riding out there in the morning." Chris looked at Buck knowing he was only half listening. But that didn't matter to him. Buck would one day go his own way and for now Chris knew where he wanted to be and what he wanted to do. For the first time in years he was feeling hopeful wanting more than anything to settle down and raise his own family.  
  
"I'll go with ya," Buck responded, pulling the saloon girl down onto his lap. She squealed with excitement and it was only a few moments before the two of them disappeared.  
  
Chris watched them go all the while shaking his head at his friend's antics. That was Buck, never focused on one thing longer than he had to and never, ever without a woman.  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Wade Furgus hired both Chris and Buck on the spot. He needed men to help him start getting his horses and cattle ready for winter. The ranch was large with corrals and pastures that seemed to go on forever. Bunkhouses and sheds sat next to the elegant home that had been painted white, three gables were on the top floor and curtains periodically peeked out the windows.  
  
Furgus and his two sons, David the oldest and Peter the youngest, ran the ranch while his wife Marie ran the household. They were a lovely family both on the inside and the outside. They attended church every Sunday and no matter what they were expected to be inside the main house at exactly six o'clock for dinner, no exceptions.  
  
While working on the ranch Chris had managed to find a small piece of property that was not far from Eagle Bend. It needed work, but it would make a nice place to raise a few horses and start family. So he purchased the small farm with the money he'd made after selling his father's place in Indiana. With the money he earned working for Furgus, he started building a small house and corral. He intended to ask Sarah for her hand and he didn't want her to say yes and then not have a home to bring her to. Sarah was something special and he wanted to make sure that she had everything she wanted or needed.  
  
Without the permission of Sarah's father the two young people continued to see each other. Sarah would take an afternoon and go riding and meet up with Chris. Other times he would sneak in at night while Hank was in town with the boys.  
  
******  
  
It was a Friday afternoon when Chris came to ask Sarah for her hand in marriage. Unfortunately, Hank Connelly found them together in the barn.  
  
"Papa," Sarah gasped, seeing the riffle her father was carrying. She stepped in front of Chris, wanting to protect him.  
  
"Step away from him, Sarah," Hank ordered, pointing the rifle in Chris' direction.  
  
"Mr. Connelly." Chris stepped forward and pushed Sarah gently out of the way. "This doesn't have to be this way."  
  
"I don't want no rough cowboy carousin' with my daughter." Hank cocked the hammer back on the rifle.  
  
"Papa," Sarah said again, trying to break the increasing tension as she stepped forward and grabbed her father's arm. "Chris and I want to get married." She smiled happily.  
  
"Get to the house," her father ordered again. "Now!" he snapped, when she was going to say something else.  
  
Sarah jumped at his outrage and ran for the house. She intended to pack a bag and leave for good. She was in love with Chris and she couldn't deny it, not to her father…not to anyone. She knew Hank wouldn't kill Chris, but she wouldn't put it past her father to fill her love with gravel or something of that nature.  
  
"You," Hank spoke in a low threatening tone, "…get off my land and leave my daughter alone…I won't have her marryin' a man who don't know the meanin' of the word."  
  
"I won't leave her," Chris stated.  
  
"You best get, boy," Hank warned again, bringing the rifle up to his shoulder.  
  
Chris stood his ground until Buckshot pushed him from behind causing him to move sideways. The gun went off and the pellets hit him on his backside and left hip. Hank cocked the hammer once again and threatened to fire unless Chris rode out.  
  
Sarah ran out of the house when she heard the shot and rushed for the barn. Her father stood near the exit doors on the far side of the barn watching the cowboy who wanted to take his daughter from him ride away slumping slightly in his saddle.  
  
"Chris!" Sarah yelled, rushing past her father.  
  
Hank reached out and grabbed her arm stopping her from going any farther. "It's for the best," he said, watching her.  
  
"For who?" she snapped, pulling forcefully away from him. Tears streamed down her face and with an exhausted sigh, she ran back toward the house.  
  
******  
  
Buck stepped out of the cabin in time to see Chris riding up slightly hunched over the saddle horn. The ladies man threw out the last bit of coffee and walked up to the corral as Chris slowly dismounted.  
  
"How'd it go?"  
  
Chris took a deep breath while leaning against his horse. "Bastard shot me." He pulled his hand away from his hip and noticed the small amount of blood on the palm.  
  
Buck choked back a chuckle and took a closer look at Chris' rump. "Yep, he shot ya. Should have known he would Chris…you're movin' in on his territory."  
  
"Sarah's his daughter, not his damned property." He grabbed his hip feeling it burn.  
  
"Shit, he only shot ya with rock salt." Buck chuckled again. He grabbed Chris under his shoulder and helped him into the house.  
  
"Still hurts like hell."  
  
Buck threw a pot of water on the stove and grinned when Chris pulled his britches down. Red welts covered his hip and left buttock. Only a few shards had punctured the skin but it still looked painful.  
  
"So what are you gonna do?" Buck handed Chris a rag that had been boiled.  
  
"I'm gonna ride back out there and get her, what in the hell else am I gonna do!"  
  
"Never thought I'd see you this stuck on someone," Buck said, watching as Chris carefully placed the cloth over his hip. "What do you need me to do?"  
  
"Keep boilin' the water," Chris responded with a chuckle. "Thought for sure Sarah's ol' man was goin' to take my head off." He hissed in pain when newly moistened salt connected with a fresh wound.  
  
A knock at the door caused Buck to jump up and look out the window while Chris tried frantically to pull his pants up. Dishes hit the floor and the scraping of chairs against wood could be heard outside the cabin. Buck motioned for Chris to hurry. When he finally finished Buck opened up the door with a smile on his face.  
  
"Buck," Sarah said, through a sad smile.  
  
"Sarah?" Chris questioned, pressing past Buck who decided to make his way toward the corral allowing the two lovebirds time alone. "What are you doin' here?"  
  
"Did you mean it when you asked me?" she asked, referring to his proposal.  
  
"Yes," he responded, still not completely understanding what was happening.  
  
"How soon?" She looked into his blue eyes and saw nothing but honesty and concern.  
  
"What about your father?"  
  
"This isn't about him." She loved her father but she saw what he was becoming. After the death of her mother, he changed and became wildly controlling and possessive. At eighteen, she knew nobody would be good enough to marry her. She was already considered passed the marrying age but despite that she was madly in love with the man standing before her. Never in her life did she feel the way she did at this moment in time and she wasn't about to let anything come between that. "This is about us."  
  
"There's a judge in Black Creek. It's a day's ride from here but I know he'll marry us," Chris said with more excitement than he anticipated he would. He new he wanted to marry her he just didn't think it would be this easy. He wasn't scared like he thought he would be.  
  
Sarah smiled and her face lit up brighter than Chris had ever seen it before. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Let's go."  
  
"Okay then." Chris grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "We'll leave now."  
  
******  
  
The wedding was small and quite simple. Buck stood up for Chris while one of Sarah's mother's friends stood up for her. She was dressed in a simple light blue dress that was accentuated with embroidery, and, as a touch, she added wild flowers stuck in her hair. Chris had never seen her look more beautiful. For the first time in fourteen years, since the death of his father, he felt whole again. Sarah had managed to fill that void in his life and oh how he loved her for it.  
  
Buck, with his usual finesse, whooped and hollered after the wedding was over. He could hardly control himself due to all the excitement in the air. He'd even kissed the widow Harris, who stood up for Sarah. His best friend had just married the prettiest girl in the world and he couldn't have been happier for him.  
  
Chris gave his new wife a hug and kissed her gently on the lips. Sarah seemed to glow. She was sad that her father wasn't there to share the day with her, but she didn't dwell on that. Instead, she focused on her new husband, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. She wanted to bear his children and grow old with him.  
  
Chris took her hand and they stepped out of the courthouse together as Mr. and Mrs. Larabee. Mrs. Harris gave Sarah a hug and watched as her new husband helped her up onto the wagon. Buck tipped his hat to the widow, then mounted up on his horse and followed the newlyweds out of town.  
  
******  
  
Buck continued to work for Wade Furgus, while Chris worked the small herd of horses he'd managed to procure. He'd bought six well-bred mares from his former boss and mated them with Buckshot who was now retired and enjoying his time as a stud. With Buck's help he'd been able to capture a few mustangs, a few he kept and bred, while the others he broke and sold.  
  
Sarah had managed to turn the cabin into a home after only a few days. Dust particles were replaced with vases and wild flowers. Gunnysacks that had hung over the windows were replaced with lace curtains. Things that made a home a home were quickly found over the fireplace mantle and on the counters. Herbs and flowers hung from the window near the kitchen drying in the sun.  
  
When she hung the laundry out to dry, she'd sing songs that a woman of standing would never utter. But they were the only songs she knew because her father had sung them. At dinnertime, she'd spend her time in the kitchen preparing her delicious meals. It always amazed Chris that every time she made her apple pie Buck would show up.  
  
Sunday nights were always Chris' favorite. The aroma of chicken and dumplings seemed to seep through the wood cabin and fill the night air. Chris never had to be told to come to dinner on Sunday, as that particular dish was his favorite.  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Months went by rather quickly and it was a Friday evening when Sarah informed Chris that they would be expecting a child the following spring. Chris was ecstatic. He broke additional horses and, with Buck's help, took more to Mexico. It made for fewer trips and Chris didn't like to be away for any longer than necessary.  
  
Buck was just as thrilled when he found out Sarah was with child. He'd seen the way she brought Chris out of his roguish ways. No longer was he moving from town to town yearning for a fistfight. It was amazing that he'd never broken his nose or lost a tooth for that matter. Buck did miss the womanizing they used to do together, but just because Chris had stopped didn't mean he had to, so he didn't. There had been times during their travels when the two men had to keep a safe distance from each other. Sometimes Chris would become so melancholy that he couldn't be around anyone. Memories of his dead parents and siblings would suppress his very being and he'd drink until he was in such a stupor that it was Buck who had to get him out of bad situations. Usually those bad situations ended with some kind of a fight.  
  
There was no denying that the tall blonde could shoot, but he wasn't as fast as the men who killed for a living. And Buck, well, he was always good to have in a fight. Things changed for Chris when he had met Sarah. That void in his life was gone, filled by a brown haired, brown-eyed girl who loved him in return. He cleaned up his life, rarely going to town for a drink, always working, and trying to improve himself, despite the odds that were against him. Frank Connelly had made it clear that he didn't want his daughter being courted by a wild mangy cowboy. Sarah, however, didn't care. She had fallen in love with him the moment she laid eyes on him. She loved the way he'd look at her, the way he'd make her laugh, and the way he'd open up to her. They shared their dreams, hopes, and fears with each other.  
  
Buck had even caught Chris wearing an apron while doing the dishes, something he would have sworn he'd never see. The more he saw the two of them together, the more he realized that he would have to move on. At twenty-seven, Buck still had a long road to haul so he decided that after the baby was born he'd leave.  
  
******  
  
The winter months seemed to get colder as the New Year got closer. Sarah's belly was swelling and she complained about her 'fat' ankles, her strange cravings for hot peppers, and her constant running to the outhouse. Chris would sit back and laugh as she continually spiced up her meals trying desperately to quench her hunger.  
  
Chris suffered through the bad breath, mood swings, and Sarah's determination to learn new songs despite not being able to read music. Sometimes all he could do was laugh, while other times he looked at her in awe. He was learning slowly the rules of being married: the 'true' meaning of certain words, an argument was never truly over until he lost, and never- ever respond to a situation with an 'I told you so'.  
  
Sarah wasn't the only one who demanded that certain things be done a certain way. One of the first things Chris had taught her to do was shoot a rifle. He didn't want her alone at the ranch without any protection. He'd also taught her how to check the horses' tails for changes in weather. If there was a storm coming, the horses' tails would spread out from the static electricity in the air. More than anything, he just wanted to be near her and he particularly loved it when she'd come out to the corral and watch him work.  
  
******  
  
Sarah rolled over onto her back and smiled when she noticed her husband looking at her. The sky was clear and the stars seemed close enough to touch. The moonlight reflected off Chris' face as he watched his wife. Despite the cold night the cabin was warm and Sarah moved over on the bed and pulled the covers aside.  
  
"How long have you been awake?" she asked softly.  
  
"A while."  
  
"I was thinking," she paused, gently caressing her swelling belly, "if the baby is a girl I'd like to name her Ruth…after my mother." She looked at Chris and smiled.  
  
"And if it's a boy?"  
  
"Adam…after your father."  
  
Chris stood up and crawled into bed beside his wife. He touched her stomach and smiled. "I think that sounds fine." He brought her hand to his mouth and he kissed it gently. "What if it's twins?"  
  
"I feel like it's triplets," she said with a laugh.  
  
"I'll have to build a bigger house." He lay back and wrapped his arms around her as she crawled up against his shoulder.  
  
"You will anyway." She smiled rubbing his chest.  
  
"I figure I will." He kissed her forehead and waited until her breathing leveled out before he looked out the window over his small bit of land. His home would be growing and he'd do the best he could for his wife and children, no matter the cost.  
  
******  
  
Buck slid off his old horse and looped the reins over the corral fence. Chris was pulling off his saddle from a young mustang colt he'd been working. The animal breathed heavily but continued to stand perfectly still as his handler quickly rubbed him down. April was only a few days away, but the weather was warm even though spring had just arrived.  
  
"You come for some apple pie?" Chris asked through a smile.  
  
"Damn right." Buck grinned, slapping his long time friend on the shoulder as he exited the corral.  
  
When the sound of breaking glass came from the cabin, Chris took off at a run with Buck right on his heels. They burst in through the front door and found Sarah grasping her belly while leaning against the table.  
  
"I'll fetch Dr. Myers," Buck said, already out the door, rushing toward his horse.  
  
"Baby's coming," Sarah gasped, grabbing onto Chris for support.  
  
"Everything's going to be fine," Chris encouraged, helping his wife over to the bed.  
  
Her water had broken and the contractions were coming hard. It was happening so fast. Chris did his best trying to comfort his wife who was in agony. When the pains came, she screamed and squeezed his hand with every ounce of strength she had. He continually gave her water and wiped her face it was all he could do to keep from breaking down. He hated seeing her like this. When the pains seized, he did what he could to make sure everything was ready for when the doctor arrived.  
  
Sarah screamed again and Chris rushed back to her side. The door to the cabin opened and Doctor Myers stepped through like the archangel himself. Buck stood in the doorway, too afraid to enter the house. He watched as the doctor moved past Chris and with complete professionalism, took control of the situation. Immediately, Chris and Buck were asked to leave and ordered to wait outside until they were needed.  
  
Chris paced from one end of the porch to the other. Buck, on many times, had to stop him from entering the home. It was Sarah's cries that caused the tall blonde to almost crash through the door. Buck had never seen his friend in such a state. Not once during the war did Chris break down, show his emotions, or talk about the pain or fear he felt. Now, however, it was written all over his face.  
  
When a loud slap and a baby's cry echoed throughout the cabin Buck couldn't keep Chris from entering. Hesitantly, Buck followed.  
  
"Chris," Dr. Myers smiled handing the new father his son. "Congratulations."  
  
Chris took the child tentatively and looked at him, an amazed expression adorning his face. He didn't hear the instructions the doctor gave him or Sarah, instead he sat next to his exhausted wife and comforted his family. Buck, ever the best friend, listened to the instructions and helped the doctor collect his things. It was hard to believe that Chris was a daddy.  
  
Adam cried until his mother gently took him and held him to her breast. Chris continued to watch.  
  
Buck helped the doctor leave and then he stood in the doorway, watching the Larabee family. Feeling like he was intruding, he closed the front door and then grabbed the old rocker that was on the porch. He didn't want to leave in case he was needed.  
  
Chapter 11  
  
Adam soon earned the nickname 'Pudge', courtesy of Buck, because of his chubby cheeks and rolls of baby fat. Sarah, in turn, had started referring to Chris' best friend as 'Uncle Buck'. Despite not being blood related the ladies man was family. He was thrilled; not since his mother had passed had he known the affection of a family.  
  
Chris took to carving small animals for his new son after dinner. After seeing what he was doing, Sarah request that he start working on Noah's ark. He'd even gone to town and ordered a book, so he would have an idea of what all the animals on the ark looked like. After all, Adam only needed so many horses.  
  
Hank, after hearing about Adam's birth, cleaned and repaired the crib he'd made for Ruth, just before Sarah had been born. He dropped it off while his daughter's family wasn't home. It was his unspoken way of saying 'congratulations'. Sarah treasured it all the while hoping that it was a gesture of reconciliation.  
  
After a couple of weeks, it was becoming obvious that Adam was going to take after his father. His eyes were just as green and Sarah could tell that his bald head would soon be filled with blonde hair. He even took after his father in temperament: slightly moody when he didn't get his way, the hungrier he got the louder he got, and always up before dawn.  
  
******  
  
Sarah dried the last dish and wiped a few stray hairs away from her face. She glanced at her son who slept peacefully in his crib. She smiled lovingly at him then looked up and met the blue eyes of her husband. "What are you looking at?" she asked softly, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She smoothed the front of her dress and removed her apron.  
  
"Everything," Chris replied with honest eyes. He watched as his wife bowed her head after a tinge of red hitting her cheeks. There wasn't one thing about her that he didn't love.  
  
Chris stood up when he heard a soft knock at the front door. Sarah went about the kitchen getting things ready for the night while Chris excused himself from the house to have a talk with Buck.  
  
******  
  
The night air was crisp, as the two friends approached the fence. The horses stood silently in one large cluster in the center of the corral as the two friends approached the fence. It wasn't unusual for Buck to stop by after he'd finished his work at the ranch, but for some reason Chris knew tonight was different. The usually verbose cowboy, was unusually quiet as a blanket of seriousness covered him.  
  
Buck took his hat off and looked at the horses in the corral. "I'm headin' off to Texas come mornin'."  
  
"Texas?" Chris asked, slightly shocked.  
  
"Figured I might try wearin' a badge for a while."  
  
"Rangers?" Chris watched, as Buck nodded his head. "Never figured you for a lawman."  
  
Buck laughed. "Well, you know a lady can't refuse a man with a badge."  
  
"I didn't think you needed any help where women were concerned?"  
  
"Well, now I'll have that extra bit of charm that the ladies won't be able to resist." Buck laughed again but there was sadness in his voice. "I figured I needed to move on, at least for a short while."  
  
"You plan on comin' back?" Chris was sorry to see him leave.  
  
"For as long as Sarah's makin' apple pie."  
  
"She's going to be sorry to see you leave." Chris rested his arms on the top rail of the fence.  
  
"You married yourself a damn fine woman Chris. I can only hope I'll be as lucky…and that boy of yours…" he couldn't finish the statement.  
  
"Hell," Chris swore under his breath. "You and me have been through some times that's for sure and I reckon we've got a bunch more ahead of us."  
  
"I should get, I promised Chloe that I'd spend my last night in town with her." Buck put his hat back on his head and then started walking toward his horse.  
  
Sarah stepped out of the house with Adam in one arm and a knapsack in the other. Buck walked up to her and gave her a kiss on her cheek then stroked the child in her arms with a loving touch.  
  
"There are four sandwiches, a few apples, and a fresh apple pie in here." She handed him the knapsack with a smile spread across her face. She didn't have to be told that Buck was leaving…she just knew. "I'd give you some paper to write us with but I'm afraid it wouldn't be used properly." She touched his arm and stifled a laugh.  
  
"Can't get anythin' past you." Buck laughed and tied the knapsack to the saddle horn.  
  
"We'll expect you for Christmas," Sarah made her suggestion sound more like a demand as she wrapped Adam's blanket tighter under his chin.  
  
"Be careful, Buck." Chris clasped his best friend's hand in a firm shake then without warning gave him a hug.  
  
Buck tipped his hat, unable to say another word. He slipped into his saddle and smiled down at the three people that meant more to him than anything. "Take care while I'm gone." He tipped his hat once more then rode off.  
  
Chris wrapped an arm around Sarah's shoulders.  
  
"He'll be back," Sarah stated confidently.  
  
Something in his gut told him that his wife was right…she was always right. But he'd never tell her that.  
  
******  
  
Chris couldn't believe the amount of time that had past. Adam was crawling and Sarah was having a hard time keeping him out from under her feet. He played and cooed all the time. The only time he would get grumpy was when dinner wasn't right on time. His green eyes mirrored his fathers and his hair was almost white like Chris'. Thankfully Chris' didn't stand up on end like his son's.  
  
Sarah continued to teach herself simple children's songs and many times Adam would bounce up and down in his crib or on the floor, as she sang around the house. The little rag dog that she had made him was beginning to wear out from all the slobbering and constant washings it endured. Adam was a handful but he was a joy to have around.  
  
Chris would ride around in the corral on one of his horses with his boy sitting in front of him. There was never a happier child than Adam when he was riding with his father. His face lit up like a light on the darkest night when Chris took him out to visit the large animals. At first, Sarah had been worried, but that worry was soon quenched when she realized her son was just as safe in Chris' care as he was in hers.  
  
The young couple had decided they wanted to have more children. Adam was growing so fast that they both believed he'd be breaking colts before Chris turned 30. But having more children wasn't going to be easy. After three miscarriages, a disappointed Sarah decided to wait and try at a later time. The powers that be seemed to have other ideas about the Larabee family growing. However, the thought of trying again was never far from their minds.  
  
As winter turned into spring and spring into summer, Adam was walking and talking like most fourteen month olds. Sarah would lay out a blanket in the yard and together they watched, as Chris broke his young colts. The young mother would laugh and sing as her son clapped his hands and kicked his feet. He was growing into a beautiful boy.  
  
Buck didn't make it for Christmas, the first one after Adam was born, or the next few for that matter. He sent letters telling Chris and his family about his many exploits and adventures as a Texas Ranger. It was obvious in his writing that he wanted to come visit, but being a lawman was keeping him busy. Chris understood. Life seemed to be flying by, for not just the ladies man, but for the rest of them as well.  
  
******  
  
Chris sat at the table going over the books for the ranch while his wife put a three-year-old Adam to bed. The ranch was growing and so was his reputation as a horseman. Buckshot was turning out to be a great stud, producing foals that were in high demand.  
  
Sarah stood up and straightened her skirt, then walked over to the table and started rubbing Chris' stiff shoulders. She knew the pressure he was under and wanted to help. He worked from sun up to sunset working with his horses and transferring them all across the territory.  
  
"Why don't you go into town and hire someone," Sarah suggested.  
  
"I'm gonna have to," he sighed leaning back in his chair to fully enjoy his wife's ministrations.  
  
A warm wind blew the lace curtain from the window. The hairs on the back of Chris' neck stood up and he looked immediately for his rifle and the positions of his family. Sarah jumped when Chris pushed her toward the bed where Adam was sleeping, completely unaware of what was happening.  
  
"Stay here," Chris ordered. He pulled his old rifle from above the fireplace and loaded it. Turning, he handed it to his wife. "I'll be right back," he said, trying to sound convincing. Quickly, he grabbed his pistol and dimmed the lamp that was on the table.  
  
"Be careful," Sarah whispered holding tightly onto the rifle.  
  
Chris smiled reassuringly then looked out the window. He wasn't sure what was out there, it was just a feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was late and it was enough of a feeling to cause him worry. The moon wasn't full, but the night sky was clear.  
  
Slowly, he made his way outside and noticed immediately that the horses had their ears perked up and were nickering softly. There was definitely a strange horse in the area; that much was for sure. Chris pointed his weapon at the unfamiliar gray horse that rested next to the corral. Chris called out for the rider to make his appearance, but no effort was made. As he got closer he got to the animal, he realized the rider was slumped over the saddle horn across the neck of the tall gray gelding.  
  
"Buck?" Chris said, more out of disbelief than anything else. He stepped closer to the horse that simply reached out with his nose to smell the stranger. "Shit," he gasped reaching up to pull his friend off the horse. Buck moaned, but didn't regain consciousness as Chris laid him on the ground. "Sarah!"  
  
******  
  
Sarah jumped when she heard Chris' desperate call. She checked Adam to make sure he was still asleep and then rushed out the door toward her husband. She saw the worry on his face and when she reached his side she gasped when she noticed the amount of blood caked to the left side of Buck's shirt and chest.  
  
"He's alive," Sarah confirmed, while opening up the blood-soaked shirt. The bullet wound caused the couple to look at each other in question. Sarah pulled the makeshift bandage away from the wound and immediately started giving orders. The wound was high on Buck's left side, just below the bottom rib. "We need to get him inside," she said, grabbing Chris' arm and looking him in the eye.  
  
Chris nodded, then immediately moved to take Buck over his shoulder and headed for the house. Sarah put water on to boil and began cutting clean sheets into bandages, while Chris got Buck settled into bed. A fever was already raging through the lawman's body, causing the couple to worry.  
  
The bullet had passed through Buck's side, but infection had set in. The smell of herbal teas and poultices filled the small house. Chris saddled up Buckshot and took off at a fast gallop, intending to find the doctor leaving Sarah to care for his best friend. If anyone could handle the situation, it would be her.  
  
Sarah cleaned the wound as best as she knew how. She continually wiped Buck's fevered brow and checked her son who still slept peacefully nearby. She had to wonder how the ladies man came to be in a position such as this and at the same time she was feeling guilty for being thankful that it wasn't Chris in his place.  
  
It wasn't long before Dr. Myers arrived with Chris close on his heels. Thankfully, the good doctor had been in his clinic in town. With Sarah's help, the doctor quickly took care of Buck's wounds. His main concern was infection but there wasn't a lot that he could do about it at this point in time. The injury was at least two days old and for some unknown reason, it hadn't killed Buck yet. Dr. Meyers was hopeful that it wouldn't, that coupled with Sarah's nursing abilities, he felt his patient would pull through.  
  
******  
  
Sara continued to wash the bandages she'd taken off Buck's wound. Adam constantly moved about the room, curious about the stranger who was sleeping in the bed just off the kitchen. When the stranger's hand moved Adam stood still, as though waiting for a surprise to pop out. Slowly, the small boy made his way to the bed with his stuffed horse clutched tightly in his grasp. Sarah continued with her cleaning, not noticing what her son was doing.  
  
Adam crawled up onto the bed and stared at the stranger with questioning eyes. Slowly, the man who his mother had called his 'Uncle', moved.  
  
Buck brought his hand up over his stomach and paused, not knowing if he had enough energy to do anything more at the moment. His head hurt and a burning pain in his side was becoming more annoying as time went by. He brought his hand up and wiped his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried to focus on one thing.  
  
Adam smiled when the stranger looked at him.  
  
"Adam, honey, leave Uncle Buck alone," Sarah, said with a smile when she saw her son sitting on the bed.  
  
Buck squeezed his eyes shut and looked at the small figure on the bed. Adam, Buck tried to reason. He was sure that was the name he heard. When the boy came into full view, the ladies man smiled. Curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and chubby cheeks looked down on him and he smiled. "Pudge?" Buck said with a hoarse voice.  
  
"Momma," Adam spoke up, looking over his shoulder to his mother.  
  
Sarah looked up and walked over to the bed. "Buck," she said, smiling down at her friend. "Let me get you some water."  
  
Buck looked up and smiled. He didn't know how he made it here, but it was good to be back. He remembered being ambushed in the Texas territory, but that was about all. Things were still a bit foggy as he tried to clear his mind. Suddenly, Sarah was back at his side, helping to prop himself up so he could drink out of the cup she'd gotten for him.  
  
"How long 'ave I been here?" Buck asked, lowering the cup with shaky hands.  
  
"Three days," Sarah moved to sit on the bed next to her son. She pulled the sheet down, unintentionally startling her patient.  
  
Buck pulled his hand across the sheet and his eyes widened.  
  
"Never known you to be shy." Sarah grinned.  
  
"No offence Sarah, but you're married to my best friend."  
  
"I just need to check your bandage, nothing else." She touched his arm and finally, he relented, allowing her to tend his wound. "You gave us quite a scare when you first came in."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I was hoping you could tell us that," Sarah replied, pulling the sheets back to their original position.  
  
When the door to the house opened, three sets of eyes landed on Chris, who was covered head to foot in dust. "Buck," Chris said with a little more enthusiasm than he'd intended. "'Bout time you woke up." He walked over to the bed and clasped Buck's outstretched hand.  
  
"Hell Chris, you know me…why work when you can sleep."  
  
"I thought…" Chris stopped, realizing Adam was looking up at him with innocent eyes. Sarah stifled a laugh and then stood up, intent on making something for Buck to eat before he fell back to sleep. "So…what happened?"  
  
Buck wiped his face and leaned back against the pillows. "Can't remember much," he looked at Adam, who seemed to be content chewing on his stuffed horse. "I was headin' up from Houston after I turned my badge in." He looked at Chris, who responded with a surprised glance. "Being a lawman wasn't what it was cut out to be…anyway, seems a gang of outlaws saw fit to rob me."  
  
Sarah handed Buck a bowl of soup, then picked Adam up off the bed, leaving the two men to talk.  
  
"How'd you make it up here?" Chris asked, grabbing a chair to sit in.  
  
"Just remember somebody coming up from behind me. Then this feelin' of someone stickin' a brandin' iron through my side…when I came to, I remember getting up on ol' Brewster and thinkin' I needed to get across the border."  
  
"Damn good thing you did." Chris leaned back and watched as Buck finished his soup. "Didn't think you were going to make it there for a while." Chris shook his head. "Why'd you give up the badge?"  
  
"Saw some things I didn't particularly like," Buck didn't sugar coat the issue.  
  
Chris nodded his head in understanding. Buck wasn't ready to tell him the details and he wasn't sure if he ever would be, but that was okay with him. He watched as his longest and best friend sank farther back into the pillows as the call of sleep beckoned to him. Chris grabbed the soup bowl before it fell from the bed. "Get some sleep, I've got enough work here for ten men and I need you healthy," he said with a smile, then he headed back outside to let Buck rest.  
  
Buck smiled sinking deeper into the comfortable bed. He'd really missed Sarah, 'Pudge', and Chris. For now he was where he belonged.  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Buck healed quickly mainly due to Sarah's insistence. She'd been adamant that the former lawman not to do anything that could re-injure himself. Which meant Chris had to do all the breaking while Buck did all the groundwork. They were defiantly a team and Chris needed him.  
  
In the three years the ladies man was gone, Chris hadn't realized how much he'd truly missed his longtime friend. Having another man around enabled not just Sarah and Adam, but others as well, the ability to watch Buck and Chris interact. They were a lot like brothers. It was obvious who was older. Chris liked things done his way and Buck did his best to comply but, like most siblings, they had a tendency to argue.  
  
Buck managed to get a room in town. He claimed it was because he wanted to be near his lady friends, but Sarah knew it was because he didn't want to be overly bothersome. She always made sure he had at least one big meal during the day because she didn't want him going home hungry. Chris had offered him a place to stay out at the ranch, but he'd refused. He liked the smell of women and beer and Chris understood.  
  
Between the two of them, they managed to break and train many horses over the next few years. Many of the young horses were ones that he'd bred; several were crossed between Buckshot and mustang mares. The combination seemed to be an excellent one. Ranchers, from not just the local area but clear down into Mexico, had contacted the young rancher telling him of their desire for good mares, potential studs, and cutting stock. Chris did his best to comply with their needs.  
  
******  
  
Adam soon grew out of his nickname but Buck always reminded him of it. The bigger the boy got, the more he began to look like his father. Sarah saw a little bit of her own father in her son, in the way he would smile and the way his ears turned red when he knew he was in trouble. Buck was his favorite uncle and not just because he was his only one, but because he was almost like an older brother who protected his younger with the utmost intensity. Fishing trips weren't all that uncommon, food fights even more so, and scary stories that sometimes caused Adam to sleep with his parents. They were things that siblings usually did together and it helped that Buck was just a kid at heart.  
  
Adam was growing up so fast. Three days after his sixth birthday, Chris and Buck headed back down into Mexico. They were taking six mares to a well- known horse breeder who lived just across the border. Chris anticipated being gone for about two weeks, a slightly longer trip than usual.  
  
******  
  
Chris finished saddling his black gelding, Mud, affectionately named after Adam's first word. Buck rode around the corral, giving his 'nephew' one last ride before they left. Sarah stood by the gelding, next to Chris making sure he had everything he needed, food, water, and clothing. She was never happy to see him leave but she always looked forward to his return.  
  
Adam ran to his father's side and Chris picked him up and gave him a hug then he reached down and gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. Sarah squeezed his arm. then took Adam and together they stood on the porch of the house and waved goodbye to Chris and Buck.  
  
Sarah rubbed her belly and clasped her son's hand…she missed her husband already.  
  
******  
  
The ride to Mexico was long and hot. Both Chris and Buck stopped in the border town known as San Carlos. A large church rested in the center of town with a cross just outside the door and a sign inviting everyone with a need inside. A few friars dressed in dark brown robes worked casually on a wagon that had lost a wheel while a group of children stood nearby watching and waiting. Chris and Buck nodded their heads in agreement before uttering a single word. Saloon. They were in need of a good drink and some good food. When they got to the livery they found Mr. Araguen dismounting his tall gray gelding. When he saw Chris, he stepped forward with a smile and a look of pleasure adorned his face. He was happy with the horses the two Americans had brought him.  
  
The exchange was simple and direct. Mr. Araguen was very pleased with the horses. They were strong animals with excellent conformation and docile temperaments. An agreement was made between the two businessmen and Chris soon found himself looking at the possibility of a yearly contract for six mares every year, sight unseen.  
  
Buck slapped his friend on the shoulder as they headed for the cantina to grab some beer and food before starting on their trip back to Sarah and Adam.  
  
******  
  
When a little Mexican woman stepped out of the shadows, Buck was in heaven. Her eyes met his and his heart jumped out of his chest. She brought the two American cowboys each a beer and took their order for food then disappeared behind the curtain that was hiding the kitchen.  
  
"That is a beautiful woman," Buck said in awe. The swing of her hips and bounce of her hair had grabbed his very being.  
  
"Buck," Chris shook his head, knowing what was coming. "Keep your bean in your pants, I want to head out before sunset."  
  
"Hell Chris," Buck gasped, keeping his eyes on the curtain that would once again expose the raven-haired beauty it hid. "One extra night ain't goin' to hurt nothin'…besides we've been ridin' hard for six days I say we need an extra night of…" he paused, thinking of the right word, "relaxation."  
  
"I got four mares that need servicing, three that are due to foal anytime, and small herd of mustangs that need to be caught." Chris took a long sip of his beer and ran a weary hand over his face. He was tired.  
  
"One night," Buck almost begged. He never took his eyes off the curtain as it opened and once again the pretty little woman with eyes so large they took up half her face came out with two plates of hot food.  
  
Chris watched as Buck worked his magic on the young woman. Sure enough it was only a few minutes before she was seated happily on Wilmington's lap wearing a smile that could light up the night. Buck's pleading eyes met Chris' and without a real conformation of the fact they would stay an extra day, the ladies man threw his new conquest over his shoulders and headed off somewhere to be alone. Chris shook his head watching them leave. Buck was never going to change…it was just a part of who he was.  
  
Slowly Chris finished his meal and then found a room for the night. What could one extra night hurt?  
  
Chapter 13  
  
The trip home seemed just as long, if not longer for Chris who couldn't wait to see his family. The heavy rain wasn't helping and Buck had told him about the woman he'd met several different times and each time the story got a little wilder.  
  
When they rode up over the last crest the sky was filled with gray clouds. It was the black smoke up in the distance that made the hair on the back of Chris' neck stand up. He kicked his horse into high speed racing for his home. Buck was close on his heels.  
  
******  
  
"SARAH!" Chris called desperately, jumping off his horse before the animal had the chance to come to a complete stop. His house was in flames. "SARAH!" he called again frantically, hoping for some answer.  
  
Buck jumped off Brewster and called for Sarah and Adam but felt in his gut that they were too late.  
  
"SARAH!" Chris called again, trying desperately to get close enough to the house so that he could see in. "ADAM!"  
  
Buck looked around and noticed the horses were gone, someone had let them out, and the shed had been ransacked. "Chris!" he yelled rushing toward his friend who was franticly trying to get inside the burning cabin. Buck grabbed him across the middle and pulled him away from the raging flames.  
  
"SARAH!" Chris continued to scream, fighting to get out of Buck's grasp.  
  
"They're gone, Chris!" Buck screamed, pulling him to the ground trying to keep him from killing himself. "We're too late, Chris….We're too late," he said softly, tightening the awkward grasp he had on the weak struggling man. The realization had finally struck the blonde and the fight in him left, replaced by a sense of shock.  
  
"SARAH," Chris called one last time, before sitting back on his haunches, not paying much attention to the arms that were wrapped around his shoulder or waist. He knew in his heart that Sarah and Adam were dead…he could feel it. Tears streaked down his cheeks, as he leaned back into Buck's embrace and cried. For the first time since his father's death…he cried.  
  
Buck held on tightly as sobs racked Chris' frame. It was the only thing he could do to feel useful. His own tears blurred his vision of the house that had become his home. And the woman and child who made him feel like family.  
  
The fire showed no mercy as the wood frame finally succumbed to the abuse. Buck and Chris just watched unable to move. Confusion, pain, and anger filled both men as they watched the house fall into itself. The sound of creaking wood, breaking glass, and the roar of the fire filled the night air. Everything Chris had worked so hard for was gone, taking his future with it.  
  
Sometime during the night, Buck had thrown a blanket over his friend's shoulders. It wasn't cold out, but Chris couldn't stop shaking. Buck continued to sit behind him with his arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. It was as if Buck was afraid Chris would break if he let him go.  
  
There was no rhyme or reason for their deaths. Someone had just killed them. Buck had left Chris long enough to find several tracks heading east just after the sun made its first appearance over the horizon. Tracks of the people who killed his adopted family, he was sure of it. Thankfully, the rain hadn't washed them away.  
  
Chris' heart beat wildly in his chest as he slowly got to his feet. Smoldering ashes and wood filled his line of vision. The frame of the left side of the house was still intact, as well as the fireplace that had been on the right side of the home. Slowly, he stepped into the wreckage that used to be his home, the blanket falling from his shoulders as he looked desperately for his wife and son, all the while hoping that they had managed to escape.  
  
He found Sarah first…at least he thought it was Sarah. She was laying face down on the floor next to the widow on the far side of the home. Adam was lying beneath her. It looked as though she was trying to get out of the house through the widow but the burned rifle lying next to her told Chris that someone had stopped them. He wanted to pull her up into his embrace, but he couldn't. The fire had taken that from him. The flames had burned her so badly that there was hardly anything left. His sleeping angel would never awaken.  
  
Buck stepped foreword his face streaked with tears and ash. "Let me take her Chris," he tried to sound strong but his chin quivered gently and more tears fell down his cheeks. He gently laid a blanket over the forms of Adam and Sarah so they could be moved without…so they could be moved.  
  
Chris held on tighter to the blanket covered form, as though his strength could bring her back. All the sadness in the world seemed to be reflected off of him and his heart broke. He'd never felt that kind of pain before and he swore he never would again. Gently he relinquished Sarah into Buck's awaiting arms and turned back for Adam.  
  
Buck lifted her as though she weighed nothing at all and headed off toward a small clearing that was surrounded by wild flowers. Sarah's favorite.  
  
Chris pulled the blanket back off of Adam's face. Grasped tightly in the boy's charred fingers was the pocketknife Chris had given him for his birthday. Sarah had tried to protect him from the scorching flames by covering him with her body. It was the last bit of protection she could offer her son…but it wasn't enough. Adam was dead but God had been merciful. Adam had died before he could feel the agony of fire on his skin and for that Chris was thankful. He had to believe that…he couldn't stand the thought of Adam screaming for him. Chris covered Adam with the blanket Buck had brought and carefully he picked his son up.  
  
Slowly, the tall blonde stood up and walked out of the wreckage with his son held tightly in his arms and he headed to where Buck had taken Sarah. The ladies man had tied strips of cloth around the blanket keeping her from the elements. He watched as Chris sank to his knees with Adam. He couldn't believe they were dead. While Chris sat with his son, Buck did what he could to make the preparations for their burials.  
  
******  
  
It seemed so heartbreaking to see two of the world's most precious people lying side by side in the cold earth. Chris hadn't uttered a word. Buck had gone to town and returned with the sheriff and several members of the community only to find the blonde in the same position as when he'd left him.  
  
Two small caskets were ready to be the permanent homes of Adam and Sarah Larabee.  
  
Two graves were dug and when the moment came to lay Adam in his permanent resting place, Buck had to pry the small boy out of Chris' embrace. When Buck met Chris' eyes he knew a part of his friend had died with his family. Instead of vibrant green they were empty and pain filled. Never in his life did Buck believe he'd seen so much pain in one set of eyes.  
  
Chris remained where he was and absently watched as the funeral ended. A few people came by to pay their respects, but he didn't pay them any mind. It was dark before he finally succumbed to exhaustion, shock, and despair. Buck threw a blanket over his friend and then fell asleep himself, all the while wishing he'd never asked to stay an extra night in Mexico.  
  
******  
  
The sound of heavy breathing caused Buck to jump awake. Buckshot stood over Chris' still sleeping form. Dried sweat covered the exhausted animal, as he looked tiredly around. A halter and lead rope hung loosely from his head and Buck slowly managed to grasp a hold of the lead. The big horse stepped away, but stopped when he realized his handler wasn't about to hurt him.  
  
Buck noticed immediately the slow stream of blood trickling down the animal's leg. He followed the steady flow up onto Buckshot's shoulder where he noticed two bullet wounds. "Hell," Buck said under his breath. He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. Quickly he relinquished the lead to Chris.  
  
Chris took the lead and sighed when he saw the wound on Buckshot's shoulder. It was only a matter of time before the animal succumbed to his injuries. Gently, he led his horse toward the tree line that was off in the distance. Buckshot limped behind him, moving as fast as he could. He'd made it home.  
  
Buck turned and started picking up supplies and jumped when he heard the gunshot. He knew it had to be done. Buckshot deserved better than to suffer for the last few hours of his life. A quick and painless death was best.  
  
Chris came back into view with a hardened look. His jaw was clenched and a new determination surrounded him like a cloud. Buck sat back and apprehensively watched as his best and longest friend grabbed all the ammunition he had out of his bag then walked toward the tree line. Chris fired shot after shot through the day and into the night with one thing on his mind. Revenge.  
  
Buck watched, it was all he could do. Chris wasn't a man that could be forced into anything and Buck knew that the men who killed his best friend's family created a monster that would stop at nothing until they were caught. No matter the cost.  
  
Chapter 14  
  
It was strange how much one man could change over time and for the most part a slow change was natural and expected. However, Chris had changed overnight. The hard working cowboy turned into a cynical, short-tempered, unfeeling drunk. He and Buck had followed the tracks as far as they could and came up empty. Nobody had seen or heard anything unusual. It was as though the two men were chasing ghosts.  
  
Chris, facing a life without closure, had turned to the bottle and to his gun. He became known for his fast temper and even faster draw. He took to wearing all black clothing, reaffirming his despair for the loss of his family.  
  
Buck continued to ride with Chris, more times than not, pulling him out of fights that shouldn't have been started in the first place. It wasn't unusual for Chris to break up a poker game, throw someone through a glass window, or end up in jail for a night. He hated seeing the man he was becoming but he couldn't seem to stop. It only took a wrong look or a wrong word and it would tip the gunslinger's scale. Chris was desperately searching for that fight that would end his pain. It was a suicide mission of sorts. Eventually, he would meet someone faster, stronger, and angrier than himself. That was what he was searching for.  
  
Buck felt partially responsible for Sarah and Adam's deaths. The tall blonde gunslinger never blamed Buck verbally but he had to wonder if some of those fights weren't inadvertently directed at him.  
  
******  
  
Chris rode into Purgatory with Buck following close behind. His black duster billowed against his legs as he dismounted and quickly headed up the steps for the saloon. He'd been here before, looking for information that could lead to the killers of his wife and son. He ordered a whisky at the counter and looked around the room at the other patrons. He watched as Buck grabbed a table near the back and made himself comfortable. The dark clad gunslinger was appreciative of what his friend was doing but he looked at him as a reminder of what he'd had and what he'd lost.  
  
He rested his palm on the bone grip of his Colt .45. Somewhere along his path his best friend became the weapon he carried. Chris sipped the whisky out of his shot glass, knowing Buck was going to be there to pull him out of whatever circumstance he got himself into. The tall gunslinger didn't think he wanted his old friend there to pull him out of anymore scrapes. Buck was a good man and he deserved better than hanging around the likes of Chris Larabee.  
  
Chris picked up two shot glasses and grabbed the bottle of whisky then headed over to the table where Buck sat. He poured both the glasses full of the amber liquid and grabbed a seat.  
  
"I want you to leave," Chris said, then quickly downed the shot.  
  
Buck looked at Chris in disbelief. "Why?" he asked.  
  
"It's for the best," he responded unemotionally.  
  
"Do you blame me?"  
  
"No," Chris responded honestly.  
  
"Then why?" Buck downed the shot in one gulp then fingered the glass absently in his hand.  
  
"This is somethin' I need to do."  
  
Buck leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table then aimed a look hard at Chris. "I've lost a lot of people in my life, Chris, and I sure as hell don't want to be in some strange town readin' the local paper learnin', about how some young hot-headed kid killed my best friend."  
  
"It won't happen like that."  
  
"It won't have to," Buck responded.  
  
"I need this," Chris looked hard at his oldest friend. There was nothing but sincerity in his voice.  
  
"I know." Buck stood up and shook Chris' hand, then quickly disappeared out the batwing doors.  
  
Chris sighed, then leaned back in his chair. Things had changed so much that he found it difficult to look himself in the mirror. He hadn't born a violent man but that seemed to be the only thing driving him. He didn't care who stepped in his way, how young or old, or the very color of their skin. If someone got in his way, he dealt with it in one way or the other and it didn't matter which. Violence or simple communication worked and more times than not both ended with the same results.  
  
At thirty-eight years of age, Chris seemed older now than he'd ever felt before. Sarah and Adam had given him his youth they had given everything he never knew he wanted and more. And when they died it seemed as if everything good in him had died with them.  
  
It was getting harder to tell if he drank to remember or if he drank to forget. Either way it didn't matter as long as he felt numb. He often longed for the soft touch of another woman, but none of them compared to Sarah's. He couldn't stand to watch as children played…it hurt too much. It seemed that everywhere he turned there was a reminder of what he'd lost and as time went by those happy memories became more callused and harder to reach.  
  
He was a hard man and with that came the reputation that he was a cold- blooded killer. Nobody called him out thinking that they were going to lose. They never lived long enough to say otherwise. Chris learned quickly how to watch his back; he had to because now the reputation he had earned followed him everywhere he went. But now, he was a loner, moving from town to town, looking for pieces of a puzzle that he desperately wanted to finish. When his mother and sisters died, he understood why, and when his father died the understood the causes, but this…this was something different. Sarah and Adam's deaths hadn't been anticipated, they weren't sick or dying, they were healthy and happy living full lives. That was until that fateful night two years ago. God, how he missed them!  
  
Chris stared out the window of the small tavern, wondering how his life would change, hoping it would change for the better. He needed to find some closure. He couldn't think about his future until he found that. And he would find it…someday.  
  
******  
  
It seemed for the thousandth time Chris entered another nameless town. In the six months since Purgatory he'd continued to drift from town to town looking for any morsel of information he could find that would lead him to his family's killers. He found nothing. He was convinced that the people who'd killed his family were really after him and they decided to murder his family because he wasn't there. He should have been, he should have been home to protect them, and he should have been killed with them.  
  
For some reason he could never leave the territory, always staying within a week's ride of Eagle Bend. At the same time he never went home. He couldn't face the devastation that had happened there.  
  
Surrounding ranchers, miners, and businessmen learned quickly who Larabee was, simply by his attire. All black all the time. His trademark black gun belt with silver conchos and black duster was a warning even to those who didn't know of his reputation. It didn't take them long to learn who he was.  
  
There was some truth to the stories. Chris Larabee was fast with a gun, just as accurate, and mean tempered. He didn't try and hide who he was. What was the point? Someone was always looking to call him out, challenge him in some way, or 'pretend' he didn't matter. Chris had learned long before he met Sarah, that with a face came a reputation. And Chris and Buck had earned that on there way west after the war. He knew to be leery of certain people; he also learned that not all people were what they showed themselves to be.  
  
After his father died he tried to be stronger than he was, sure he fooled some people but he was sure that some could see right through him. After the war he'd played the part of a strong willed hardened cowboy, granted he hated the word, but sometimes it seemed to fit him perfectly. That was until he met Sarah. She had managed to see right through him while at the same time he didn't feel the need to pretend.  
  
He wasn't pretending now. He was hard, cold, and many times unkind. He didn't care what people had to say and he didn't stay around long enough to listen. He kept his past to himself. A small story had appeared in the territorial paper explaining Sarah and Adam's deaths but that was all. People, in need of something to gossip about, talked about their deaths and in turn coming to their own conclusions. He didn't care as long as it wasn't thrown in his face. It wasn't anyone's business and he hated to think that it was.  
  
Chris absently nudged the end of his cheroot with his tongue and rested his forearms over the saddle horn. Mud, his big black gelding stood patiently beneath him waiting for his next command. The horse to was familiar with the different towns, different people, and different lifestyles. Most of the towns they had been in were dusty and filled with ruffians. Mud, however, did what was asked of him with no complaints. Just like his sire had.  
  
This town didn't look any different than any of the others he'd been in. He'd heard that it had been established a few years prior by young businessmen heading west to establish themselves. It didn't take long before they were being overrun by outlaws, lawless ranchers, and people who were, in general, looking to make a name for themselves.  
  
Chris gave Mud a kick in his sides and slowly they made there way down to the town ahead of them. Not knowing that it would change him for the rest of his life.  
  
The End  
  
Notes: Deadwood Dick was a real man. His real name was Nat Love. For the purpose of this story I had to change the date of Love's pseudonym. Originally it was given to him sometime after 1870, he got the name after showing a phenomenal accuracy with his riffle and revolver in the town of Deadwood in the Dakota Territory. There he earned the title Deadwood Dick and later was the subject of 33 dime store novels. 


End file.
